


Bloodline

by lemonheadlester, writtennotsung



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Chaptered, Curses, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreams vs. Reality, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2019-07-16 01:52:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 68,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16075868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonheadlester/pseuds/lemonheadlester, https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtennotsung/pseuds/writtennotsung
Summary: It's a curse, and it's a deadly one. Luckily, Dan doesn't have to face it alone.~~~A fic cowritten by @writtennotsung (@cozydnp) and @lemonheadlester on Tumblr





	1. a rift in my head

~Dan~

I can’t count how many late evenings we've spent at Starbucks during sunset.

It's one of Phil's favourite things, he's said, to just enjoy the sky's changing colours from the comfort and warmth of each other's presence and the sweetness of our drinks. With most people that you meet in your life, there’s expectations that you always need to be saying something, doing something or they seem to think that the moment isn’t worth spending together at all. It had been that way for as long as I can remember, but it’s not like that with Phil.

That’s why everything became special when I met him. All the small talk and social fears I’d had my entire life suddenly became less important because they just never happened with him. We started talking one day and didn’t stop, the spaces between full of comfortable silences in which we were doing separate things but in the same place, separately together.

He’s always fascinated me because he can just exist, content in the company of his own mind with me as the privileged guest. Being with him in moments like this feels like retreating from the rest of the world, in a way that isn’t lonely because I have him to retreat with. We’ve spent countless nights sitting countless sunsets by this point and it’s always felt the same, relaxed and transporting me instantly out of whatever high or low mood I’d caught myself up in.

Tonight is no different, except for one thing that doesn't make sense.

Phil keeps looking behind himself.

I don't understand why. He's sitting straight in his café chair, stirring his caramel macchiato with an increasingly distracted expression, his knee jiggling beneath the table like he can't relax. He's stirred the coffee so much it's become opaque, a pale brown colour that holds my gaze for a moment when I realize he hasn't touched it. We've been sitting here all evening, and he hasn't touched it once.

I watch the spoon circle, round and round and then look at the way his pale hand holds it, long, slender fingers poised and elegant even though the motions are nervous and it’s more of a restless thing than anything. He looks at me briefly when he sees I'm staring, reminding me that I’m doing it at all and bringing me back down to earth.

He doesn’t look upset, I can see that just by looking at him, but something feels off just because I can’t tell what he’s thinking. His black hair is pushed back off his forehead and strands of hair lift in the wind, making his eyes look even more bold and pronounced than they usually are.

"Storm's coming." He observes.

I stare down at my own cup, just a bit of froth and the edge of a biscuit I couldn't finish. We're in the outdoor seating area, the darkening evening casting a violet haze over everything while the sunset on the horizon burns orange and shimmers in shattered flashes on the river. There's soft piano playing and fairy lights overhead, the other patrons sitting at tables closer to the door.

We aren't alone but it feels like we are in a way, just Phil and I in a sea of people who aren't Phil. Over the last few years that's how I've tended to organize my life in general; people who aren't Phil, and the one who is. My life has no need for anything more complex or simple than that, I wouldn’t go back to the time before if I was paid to.

"Storm?" I look across the river, past the orderly buildings on the other side and to the sunset where there is only light, a few clouds sure but not the kind that would suggest bad weather. "It's really nice tonight."

Phil stirs again, so abruptly the spoon clinks against the white mug with a sharp sound. A bit of coffee spills over but he doesn't even seem to see it, glancing at the people around us like someone might eavesdrop.

"Are you sure?" He asks quietly. "I thought I felt a wind."

"Wind?" I roll my eyes and reach out my hand to still his, stopping it and forcing him to look up at me. Blue eyes meet mine and I start to see the faint freckles on his face when he finally stops looking at the crowd and turns to face me instead, a little more proximity even though he's sitting on the opposite side of the little round table.

"Don't you feel a bit _cold?"_ He asks, confused. I shrug, though I actually feel neither cold nor confused.

His eyes look even more blue with the t-shirt he’s wearing. It’s his midnight blue one, the button-up with the corgi prints that fits him way better than I’d like to admit.

"I feel like you need to drink your macchiato, idiot." I tease him. My hand is still on his and he doesn't even seem to notice yet, so I indulge a bit and lightly twine our fingers, playing his around while he looks out at the water now. His hands are quite cold now that I feel them, but my best friend has his quirks.

In all honesty, I hope he doesn't notice. There's a funny feeling fluttering in my stomach at the feeling of his hand in mine, the pressure of his fingers against my palm that makes me hope this lasts as long as possible. I can’t decide if I want him to notice or not, then I’d have to explain what’s going on. I’m hopeless, I know it literally means nothing to him.

Luckily, I don’t have to make that decision in this case.

His eyes are distant, his expression lost in thought. He's off in his own world again but it gives me an excuse to stare at him, placing his hand back down on the table and drawing mine away. It isn't until I finally pull my hand back that he seems to jolt back to attention, blinking.

“Hello.” I tease. “Are you currently residing in this universe?”

He still looks half-spaced, focusing on me slowly.

"When did we even get here?" He asks. "Where are we?"

I laugh, shaking my head fondly because it's obvious. "We're at the café? We were going to talk about my dreams I think."

He frowns, a cute furrowed brow expression that I'm paying more attention to than the words. "That's weird." He mumbles. "I don't remember coming here."

"You're weird." I say dismissively. “That’s what happens when you stay up until three playing Fallout all night. Pay attention to me.”

“I am.” He protests.

“What was I just talking about?”

“Um-” his eyes widen, he looks down at his cup. “The sky?”

I grin at him and he shakes his head, but I decide to harass him anyway.

“False.” I quip. “I wasn’t talking. I was sitting here silently.”

“I don’t know.” he groans, lowering his head and smiling into his palm, caught out. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m just teasing.” I say gently. “You really should drink that, though. I know it’s your favourite.”

“Okay, okay. But I still think there’s a storm.” He concedes, looking up again.

I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. The darkening sky is still clear and there’s no breeze of any kind.

“You’re delusional.” I tell him, keeping the tone light.

“The dreams.” He sighs. “Just talk about the dreams.”

"I've been having these dreams for as long as I can remember." I tell him. "You're in them sometimes, but you never seem to have the same dream as me, like when I wake up you always have to ask me what happened."

My curse. Sometimes I wonder if I'm just crazy, but every time I wake up with proof that’s written in my scars. There's some kind of tear between fantasy and reality, and it's in my head.

"So you're telling me I'm not real." He states, raising an eyebrow.

"This isn't a dream." I remind him. "I know you exist, you spork. I can tell the difference."

“But how can you tell the difference? Between dream and reality?” He questions. “For all you know you could be in a dream at any time. How do you know?”

“Does it matter?” I ask. “You know the most important part.”

“You have a nightmare and wound yourself in some way in the dream, then when you wake and the wound is there in real life on your body.” He recites. “Yeah. But what if you made yourself conscious of the dream while you were dreaming? Maybe if you could tell the difference you’d be able to snap out of it.”

I shrug. “I mean I’ve tried. Sometimes it’s so accurate I don’t even notice something’s off until it’s too late. Sometimes I’m kind of transparent like a ghost, and those times are the more obvious. But you have dreams too. You know what it’s like.”

“None like yours.” He mutters, thinking I can't hear him.

It feels like we’ve had this conversation in some variation multiple times. I can’t go to a doctor about it, they’d just assume the injuries I get from sleeping are self-inflicted. There’s no easy way to explain to anyone that whatever is inflicted on me in my nightmares is inflicted as well in real life. Up until Phil, no one had believed me. I didn’t tell many people to begin with for this exact reason.

“But what’s consistent?” He prods. “The ghost hand thing is a giveaway sometimes.”

“Well, the only normal thing is that it’s always cold.” I say. “I don’t feel cold right now.”

“I’m cold.” he tells me.

I think again about when I’d touched his hand earlier. It feels like it should be irrelevant, but of course that’s what’s choosing to be on my mind.

 _Maybe he's right._ My mind tells me.

I shake the thought away.

There's no way this is a dream. Absolutely no way in hell. I remember bringing him in here, sitting next to him in the bus and pointing out random thing through the window. How could he be so sure I'm wrong?

“Are you okay, Phil?” I ask him. “If we need to go home we can, it'll start getting dark soon anyways.”

“No way, Dan.” He insists. “You wanted to watch the sunset and that's what we'll do.”

We're quiet for a while aside from the tapping of fingernail on a metal table. Phil does this along with a shaking leg. He's nervous.

“That's it. I'm taking you home.” I blurt, nearly standing before Phil turns to me with an unreadable expression.

"I have to ask you a question." He says, words sober.

"What's that?"

As always, my brain tries to imagine what Phil could possibly be so serious about, especially since he's not really serious at all generally.

"Do you trust me?"

I blink.

"What?"

"I said do you trust me." He repeats coldly.

"I-I of course I do, but why?"

His eyes narrow. "I said there's a storm coming." His voice softens. "Do you believe me."

I decide not to argue.

"I believe you, Phil."

"Good, I'll be right back."

With that. He's gone, and I'm left alone and confused.

A few minutes later, Someone grabs Phil's chair and sits down, and it only takes me a split second to realise it isn't Phil. I go to stand, but my legs refuse to move, and my hands remain frozen, like icicles, braced against the edge of the metal.

"Going somewhere?" The person, a girl with a blinding white ponytail and a long white dress to match, teases me. Her eyes are seemingly colourless, grey and dull, almost lifeless. I can't believe what I'm seeing.

"Stay awhile." She smiles deviously. "Wouldn't want to leave without your friend, would you?"

"N-no." I stutter, removing my hands from the table and folding them in my lap, scratching my nails nervously against my palm. I flicker my eyes away from her piercing gaze.

"You don't have, to be scared, Dan." She says sweetly.

I don't respond. I don't believe her.

"Where's Phil?" I plead. "I know you know."

She just chuckles. "Worried about him?"

"I said Where's Phil!" I demand, this time letting my anger overpower my fear. "Who the hell even are you?"

"That's not important." She chides, standing. "Now I'm not positive as to where Phil is, but I think you should start listening to him."

The way she says his name sends shivers down my spine.

"What on earth are you talking about?" I sneer, wrapping my hands around the chair under me, ready to defend myself if I have to.

"There's a storm coming."

I gasp, a short intake of air through my nose.

"I wouldn't throw that chair if I were you. It won't do you any good underwater."

"I'm not under water."

She laughs. "Think again honey. You've been under your whole life, yet you think you've managed to stay afloat. That's all about to change, you know."

She's rendered me speechless by this point, now that I can hear thunder cracking in the distance. How is this real? Who is she? Where the hell is Phil?

"Dan, I know about your dreams. I know more than you think I do. You should know I want to help you." She calls, but I'm already up. I'm running, hopefully to find Phil.

“I don't need your help!” I call back to her.

I see Phil walking towards me, the smile on his face dropping when he sees my panicked state.

I don't even get the chance to say anything, because from a distance, I can still see the person lurking behind him.

That same girl from before.

I don't think, I don't breathe. I widen my eyes and reach for Phil as the girl behind him is replaced with a wave.

_It won't do you any good underwater._

It's only then that it clicks.

I'm dreaming. I must be.

I dig my nails into my palms, trying to tell myself _this isn't real. Wake up. Wake up._ It always helps ground me when I can’t tell if I’m dreaming or not, so I press as hard as I can.

I feel a sharp pain as my nails break skin and panic.

 _Storm's coming._ I hear Phil whispering again before the wave overtakes me. After that, there's only ringing.

I gasp as my head goes under, a huge mistake when water fills my lungs and I choke, coughing to try and get it out. There's water above me and water below me. My lungs are collapsing and I can't breathe.

Then everything is silent, but I can see faintly before the darkness takes me under, Phil, easily identifiable in his favourite corgi print button up shirt, now sinking down, limp and presumably lifeless.

Then of course, nothing.

~~~

Blinking, fluttering lashes batting against swollen eyes, violet eyes. The rush of air entering a pair of desperate lungs, frantically searching for anything familiar.

That was me, waking up in a dream.

I hadn't clue why my hands were shaking, or why more importantly, they were littered with scabs as if I'd been in some kind of fight. Everything was burning with pain, enough for me to scream in horror, especially when I saw the blood soaking my clothes.

"Hello!?" I cry, my agonising voice a testament to how terrified I am. I call out into the void again.

It seems to be endless, the amount of darkness I'm surrounded by. Beneath the rips in my jeans I feel sharp blades of grass picking at my cuts, I grasp onto the cold ground.

Cold, that's what everything around me is.

Cold, like every other time I've woken in a nightmare.

I cry out again. This time, I see someone.

'Who are you?” I shout, unable to pick myself up from the grass.

"You were lucky this time, Dan." I hear, a ghostly voice bouncing off of invisible walls. “Next time, you won't be."

I wonder if this isn't a dream after all, and I was somehow dragged outside in my sleep, beaten senseless. I have no memory of how I came to be here, or how I acquired these wounds. It seems to me that someone is messing with me, but who. What in the hell is going on?

Suddenly, I'm met with excruciating pain throughout my entire body.

~~~

My eyes shoot open and the first thing I hear is rain, pounding torrential rain and a crack of thunder that makes my heart jolt, eyes opening. Directly above me I see water, gallons and gallons of it pouring at the glass, the wave churning and fighting the glass, to get in and fill my lungs-

The storm.

My heart jolts in my chest as I remember treading without getting anywhere, drowning and screaming without Phil or anyone to hear me-

I shoot up and immediately my head cracks against something hard, making me gasp and then jump as it causes a cry of pain. It makes my head clear slightly as I look to the left enough to realize where I am, rain still pounding against the windows.

"Ow." A groggy voice mumbles, directly next to my ear.

I gasp despite myself just as Phil’s eyes open, his expression bleary. Our wide eyes meet before I can compose myself and it’s like he’s woken up instantly, sitting up straight.

"Dan!" He exclaims, turning around slightly on the sofa and jostling me a bit from what I now realize is not condemning spiderwebs but a knitted white blanket, the one Phil's mum Kath had made us as a housewarming gift when we'd first moved into the flat together. "Dan! Hey, you're good. You're fine."

Thunder cracks again and my anxiety spikes, my hands reacting without conscious thought. I grip his wrist just as my eyes recognize the sight of the same black and pale face of my dream, completely whole and unharmed.

The face of my best friend, corgi print t-shirt slightly wrinkled and skewed from sleep sitting on his shoulders, half-asleep but completely okay.

He's okay.

That's the first familiarity. Then, I begin to notice other things as well.

Phil is hugging a sofa cushion to his chest. On the tv screen, the end credits to Kill Bill are playing. I'm wrapped in the knitted blanket and his arm is behind my neck.

But that's not the important part.

I'm curled into the corner with my knees pulled to my chest, and my cheek is smushed unattractively into his shoulder.

Suddenly, the weird tsunami nightmare is the least of my worries.

I meet his eyes, realizing exactly what I'm doing and lurching back, my heart racing because who falls asleep on their best friend’s arm?

"Sorry." I gasp. "Oh god. I must have passed out during the movie. Your arm must be so numb- Ah!"

I'm cut off abruptly by arms wrapping around me, pulling me forwards as Phil falls backwards in an incredibly clumsy and uncoordinated lurch that sends me crashing into his chest as his head hits the cushions.

My chin crashes into his collarbone and I feel his breath by my ear, a soft laugh leaving his lips. His arms adjust and he moves me over so that I'm wedged between him and the sofa cushions, one of his legs hitched over mine in a way that makes me hope desperately that he can't see my face because I can feel the redness that must be blooming there.

"I totally fell asleep twenty minutes into the movie." He informs me, resting his bony chin on my shoulder and poking me in the side. "You fell asleep ten minutes in and decided to plop onto my shoulder and then looked far too cozy to disturb, so if we both have sore backs tonight, I blame you entirely."

He's cut off by a crack of thunder, a loud bang and rush of new rain that jolts me straight to my core. My heart pounds against my chest and I forget where I am, the sights and sounds of the storm filling my mind again.

“Dan.” Phil says softly, cutting into my thoughts. He tilts my face up to meet his eyes and my breathing returns to normal again, my body going limp as the nightmare finally leaves me.

I sink against his chest, only now feeling the rapidness of my heartbeat as I settle my head down and focus on his touch, feeling him squeeze my shoulder and pull the blanket up to hide my face. He just knows by now. It's a routine, he knows.

“Dream.” I get out, though that much is probably obvious by this point.

“Yeah. I know.” He whispers.

I want to tell him it's nothing, but I can't. He already knows by now, even in the dream he knew.

"What's the damage this time?" He asks worriedly. "Was it really bad? Was I there? Or no, you don't have to tell me that, just tell me if it was really bad-"

I can already see his eyes skimming over my arms and shoulders even though they're covered by the blanket.

"I-I'm fine." I murmur, and the lucky thing is that it sounds semi-convincing.

He lifts my hand and the punctures are there in the soft skin on the back of my hand, four crescent-shaped red marks still shining slightly from where I'd pressed hard enough to draw blood when I'd gripped one hand in the other.

"What happened?" He gasps.

"It's nothing." I snap, feeling defensive. And it kind of was, honestly. Nothing really happened in that dream. I was more afraid for Phil who I never actually saw in harm's way. The marks he can see were me trying to remind myself it's a dream and failing. I panicked because of a thunderstorm, it's pathetic.

"You, you don't have to tell me, Dan." His voice shivers, enough to guilt me a bit. His finger remain clasped around my wounded shaking hands, the scars and jitters that betray my pride. "I just want you to be okay."

"I am." I cut in. "I've dealt with this for long enough haven't I?"

He shakes his head. "Yes, but something's different." He tells me. "I'm not sure what, but it doesn't seem to me like you had one of your usual dreams."

Phil has known about my nightmares for a while now. It wasn't too long after we started living together that he began to notice the cuts and bruises I would occasionally wake up with, and try to hide in the mornings.

At first he'd assumed I had done it myself, and I quite honestly can't blame him for the assumption when I was so closed off. It's not that I didn't want him to know, I really did, but what could he possibly believe if I tried to to tell him the truth.

It only took him being concerned enough to stay with me one night while I had a nightmare, where he saw exactly what happened.

I never understood how it happened or why it started. My parents always used to tell me it was a curse, and that I was the unfortunate victim. I'd learned to live with it, but even then, I found myself still struggling to find a difference between fantasy and reality.

Reality, such a seemingly simple thing, right? It's what happens around you, what affects the real world, not just what's somewhere deep within your mind at night.

Well, unless you're me. Since birth I've been cursed with this disease where whatever happens in my dreams, affects my body in real life. It's not usually that drastic, but on occasion I'll wake up with cuts and bruises, sometimes even with absolutely no recollection of how they got there at first.

I still worry Phil, but what's the worst that could happen if I've dealt this this for so long already. Most times I don't even tell Phil about my nightmares unless he notices that I have them, then he'll want me to talk to him about it. Tonight is no different. He wants to know what happened.

"There was a storm, more like a tsunami actually." I explain.

"A tsunami?"

I nod. "Yeah. I think you drowned."

"So I was there?"

I nod again.

"It's okay. It wasn't real. I'm still here, Dan." He whispers as he holds me. “It was a dream.”

“I know that.” I assure him. “It's just… it's hard.”

Phil has always been there for me whenever I had these dreams. Not once has he ever been anything short of understanding and comforting. It's pure luck that I managed to have someone like him in my life, and I couldn't be more grateful.

Believe it or not, we actually have a stable system in our lives right now. My dreams are rare but Phil knows as soon as I have them. He says I have the same look on my face every time, which I assume is some combination of fear and confusion. It's a strange feeling, your body being suddenly reattached to the real world as you wake from a deep state of dangerous unconsciousness with little memory of how injured you are for the first few seconds.

We’ve had a few scares too. The most recent one I remember being only a couple months ago when I had a particularly bad nightmare.

~~~

_I had been watching a movie with Phil, one that wasn't supposed to be as scary as it was. It wasn't that, it was also pretty graphic too._

_It was a found footage one, so naturally I had assumed I would be fine to watch it. I've known ever since I was a kid I could watch anything over the top, but this shouldn't have been much of a risk._

_I was so wrong. That night, I was absolutely terrified to fall asleep. Images of bloody wolves charging towards me instantly began filtering through my mind after the movie was over, taunting me with what my dreams have yet to bring me, the inevitable nightmare that would surely come my way as soon as I closed my eyes._  
_Shaking, I immediately expressed my concern to Phil by tiptoeing carefully into Phil's room, finding him lying on his stomach with his chin pressed into a pillow as he mindlessly scrolled through something on his phone. Without thinking, I knocked on the door from where I was standing in the doorway._

_Phil turned his head and quickly noticed my sweating palms and shaking body, and he could definitely see the fear in my eyes. He sat up and gestured for me to join him on his bed and climb into his arms, which I gladly did. He didn't even have to ask, he knew._

_“I'm so sorry.” He whispered. “I shouldn't have suggested we watch that movie.”_

_I told him it's fine, that it was my choice to take the risk. He couldn't argue, not when I was literally fearing for my life._

_“If you want I can make you some coffee, give you some energy to get through the night.” He offers, wiping a year away from my eye._

_“It won’t work.” I sigh. “The dream will come no matter when I fall asleep, and it'll be worse then. The only way to get rid of it is to suck it up and get it over with tonight.”_

_Phil nods, but I can tell that he's worried. I've always been pretty good with staying away from the things that scare me, because I figured out pretty quickly after these nightmares started coming was that they were triggered by fear. It's something I've had to train myself to control throughout my childhood years._

_And yet, control is a word loosely used. As soon as the bad dreams come, there's nothing I'm able to do but face them._

_Being stuck in a dream it's nothing like a normal one where it's vague, unclear and harmless. They're one step away from real, sucking me in and trapping me there until it's over, forcing me to face anything and everything that scares me._

_I clung to Phil like a child as the exhaustion slowly began to take over until I could no longer lift my head, and I was powerless to fight the darkness eventually consumed me. Slowly, gradually, entirely._

_Waking up, that's that's what it feels like. It doesn't feel like I'm in my head, like I'm fantasising, but just opening my eyes again and stepping into a different universe._

_I don't hear anything, but I can see plenty. I'm in a forest of some kind, a common appearance in my nightmares as I am afraid of trees. Phil used to make fun of me for it, but it makes sense to me. It's unnerving to know anything could be around any corner, just obscured enough to hide behind pesky branches._

_And of course, as expected, the shrill sound of howling pierced my ears._

_I jump from where I had been sitting on the floor, scrambling to my feet and running. I'm by no means a fast runner, and in these situations it never seems matter how hard I try, I'm always outrun by whatever is chasing me. And in this case, I have no chance against wolves._

_My heart leaps into my throat as i feel myself trip over what might be at twig. I’m not sure, since I didn't get the chance to register in my head that it even happened. I was on the floor, then there was a weight over me._

_I stare up into the red eyes of the wolf, its sharp teeth on display as it bears down on me, sinking its claws deep into my shoulders, drawing a scream from my trembling lips._

_My struggles are seemingly useless. I try to push it away with all my strength, even attempting to kick it from behind to no avail. I gasp in fear as it growls, eyes now glowing a more neon shade than the original colour of crimson._

_Most of the efforts are drained from my body as the pain seeps into my arms from the claw punctures, still with the claws themselves there's, digging deeper every time I or the wolf moves. I realize there's no us win trying anymore. A breeze blows over us, swaying the wolf's fur a bit, then it stops. The cold settles in, and I freeze._

_Then the wolf takes my stillness to its advantage, wasting no time to lean in and sink its teeth into my forearm where it had been exposed after I had later my hand flat against its chest._

_I scream again, panicking when I feel the blood begin to trickle down my skin, lining the goosebumps there. Then as the teeth sink deeper, it's flowing like a waterfall, dark crimson liquid pouring from the wound. I can feel the clashing of bones as the teeth sink even deeper until they can't anymore, and then they're gone._

_Seeing the wolfs face again, teeth coated in my own blood and arm throbbing, the claws shifting in my shoulders. Tears leak from my eyes as I realize I'm about to die._

_Then the pain settle and goes away a bit, my fight or flight senses preventing me from feeling it. It's just a tickle now that I'm struggling again, determined to live. That's when I see as I lift my head a bit, the wolf's guard is down._

_I take my knee to it's back side, using its surprise to push it off. I cry in as the claws are entirely removed from my shoulders._

_I've survived things like this before. I just need to last the rest of the dream, which judging by experience and the fact that I've escaped, it shouldn't be long. I can only do one thing until then. I run._

_Surely enough the sound of paws galloping against grass grows distant, then it's gone._

_I feel dizzy from the blood loss. I know I'm about pass out as I fall and hit the floor._

_I can only hope it's me waking up, and not dying._

_~~~_

_Everything is foggy as I open my eyes. I immediately regret doing so as the pain sets in and my usual headache arrives, the ones I get when the bad dreams are triggered._

_Then I remember my wounds, and as soon as I do, I look down, the pain setting in like a ripple throughout my whole body, setting it on fire._

_When I look up I can see Phil, practically sobbing. One of his arms is tightly wrapped around me keeping me in the same position I had been in when I fell asleep here, the other one raised as his hands rests over his mouth. He has rests in his eyes, and he's probably shaking more than I am._

_“Dan..” He barely manages to squeak as he gasps, bringing his hand from his face to mine. “Oh god..”_

_“It's okay, Phil.” I try. “I'm alright.”_

_Phil shakes his head, more tears escaping him. He can hear the shivering in my voice._

_“It's nowhere near okay, Dan.” He corrects me. “You're drenched in...in blood.”_

_He carefully tools my sleeves up, hands shaking as he anticipates what he's about to see. After wiping away some of the blood, it's visible. The bite in my are, there just as it was in my dream._

_I feel the pain again, grimacing. Phil just bursts into tears._

_“I wasn't sure how bad it was going to be.” He sobs. “I thought, I thought maybe there's a chance it would be fine, but then you started breathing really quickly, then your whole body was shaking and you were rolling around in my arms. I could tell you were trying to get away from something.”_

_I close my eyes, going back to my dream and realizing how terrifying that must've been for Phil. To just watch ad it all unfolded, unable to see what's happening other than the effects in my flesh._

_“I'm alive.” I remind him. “It's over.”_

_“I know. It's just, I was right here, Dan. All I could do was watch as your shoulders started bleeding, and then your arm. I thought you were going to die.” He explains._

_I go to hug him, but then the pain stings my wounds and I realize I shouldn't be moving my arms that much, at least until my sounds are healed._

_Phil just slips his other arm under me and lifts me up, careful not to disturb the pain places. He carries me all the way to the bathroom._

_“I hate not being able to do anything.” He mumbles as he starts running cold water from the tap. “It's like you're comatose every time, and there's nothing I can do to help you.”_

_“You're doing something now.” I remind him with a smile, taking his hand in mind and running my fingers across his palm. “Thank you, really.”_

_He just returns my smile. He grabs a small cloth and proceeds to slowly wipe the blood away from my bite, sighing when more blood takes its place._

_Then he rummaged through the cupboard and retrieves a roll of bandages. He cleans the rest of my arms best hr can before firmly wrapping the bandages around, controlling the bleeding. He then goes to do the same with my shoulders._

_He grips the collar of my shirt between his fingertips. “Can I take this off? I need to get to your shoulders.”_

_I just nod, am uneven breath nearly revealing how awkward I feel. As we doblive together, it's not like we haven't seen anything, but just the words ‘can I take this off’ happened to give me shivers. I remember what he's doing, the context enough for me to forget it. I just close my eyes and let him examine my shoulders._

_Once he's done, I don't feel much better than I did before. The damage is still there, but at least my headache is gone and I'm no longer blood soaked. Then Phil gives me a painkiller._

_We leave for the kitchen to have breakfast. And not only that, but to continue with our lives._

_That was one of the worst dreams I can remember having, and all of it arose from a mistake, one I never made again._

~~~

As bad as dreams as I've had in the past, Phil was right. This one, it was different. Aside the storm and the café, that girl. No one has ever spoken to me in my dreams before, not like that. I have so many questions and I don't know if I'll ever get answers. Maybe she has the curse too.

I decide not to worry, because just like after any other dream, we'll continue with our lives.

As far as I'm concerned, nothing has changed.


	2. risky routines

Morning sun drifts through the dips in the blinds and the silk curtains covering them. The sound of birds singing fills my ears with a pleasant sound, which I keep my focus on to drown out the familiar screech of thrashing killer waves that shakes me to my core.

It had only been an hour or two before sunrise when my dream ended and I'd jolted awake in the arms of my best friend. It hadn't been too long at all, It was early for Phil and I but not overwhelmingly surprising. It’s happened before, he was more concerned about what had caused me to shoot up like that in the first place, the content of the dream himself. I’d told him sure, but I know he knows I'm withholding the truth about what had really gotten to me in my dream. I haven’t told him that part yet, partly because it’s still unsettling and partly because I haven’t sorted it out myself yet.

That girl. Who in god’s name was she?

For most people, seeing a stranger in their dreams would be nothing significant. It’s a fairly easy thing to dismiss, another feature in an hours-long sequence of the brain’s fantasies. The difference between me and most people though, is that nothing in my dreams is a mere fantasy.

In my life, the dreams I’ve had at night have tended to be vivid but devoid of people, the exception being the occasional appearance of someone I knew, someone I was close to specifically. It’s not a matter of random occurrence, it’s always someone important to me, always relevant to whoever is taking up the spaces of my mind at the present moment in time the dream occurs in. Seeing how there haven’t been many of those people in my life, this doesn’t happen much. I almost wouldn’t want them to.

Seeing someone special tends to end in nightmare, the images twisted and the friendly faces mocking me. I guess it makes sense that Phil is in them now, he’s probably going to come back again if he continues to occupy this space in my head when he isn’t even around. Which is great, just great. There’s nothing I want more than to dream of a hundred ways in which I’ll lose Phil. I think of that wave again, shuddering at the detail of the recollection. The way the heavy water ripped him from me, the corgi-patterned shirt, his favourite, a stark detail in the darkness.

And it kills me to remember seeing him there, dying in my dream. Because even though it wasn't real, I can still feel that same pain I felt after the dream ended. That ache in my heart, it's still there. Not everyone can say they know how it feels to lose someone who's still alive.

I felt it then. I felt how I would feel if I’d really lost him, it's had me in a position of silence. I couldn't tell him, could I? How I really felt when I saw that?

It’s frustrating in a way, because I can’t exactly confide what happens in these dreams to most people. Nobody can really understand how my dreams are _different,_ not when I try to explain how it’s so much more than a very specific series of included and excluded details. There’s tons of people whose dreams probably don’t feature people, some that don’t dream at all. I’ve never met anyone whose actions in their dreams resulted in a reflection of the events of the night on their actual skin, memories and sick gut feelings attached like some sick souvenir.

I look down at my hand now, at the four marks in my skin like little crescent moons and remember how they’d come about on this night, reminded of the ominous words just before the chaos.

_Storm’s coming._

I guess my dream self was right, it wasn’t technically real but it might as well have been, the dried blood from where I’d tried to wake myself up standing out against the lightness of the fuzzy blanket draped over my knees, cradling my hands laid against my knee. I try to remember if two people have ever featured in my sleep before but I can’t think of any instances besides the kind where I’m surrounded by strangers, floating in a faceless crowd that never interacted with me.

I’d dig my nails into the skin of my palm. I’d tried to wake up. Because of that, now there’s marks in that same place.

There’s been nights where I’ve terrified Phil, crying out or shuddering suddenly and waking him up only for him to see a bruise or wound trickling blood on that has materialized on me from seemingly nowhere. He’s the first person I’d ever had an honest conversation about it with. I had to, eventually. There was no way to avoid it when he was the person who probably paid more attention to me than anyone I’d ever met. He’s become so attuned to me because of it, it’s probably why he features in my nights so much. It’s why I trust him when I’d never truly allowed myself to ever open up to anyone before. He believed me first. The cost though, is that now he knows.

The girl in my dream, though, she was a stranger. She didn’t look like anyone I’d ever met in my life. Everything about her was otherworldly, from her abnormally tall frame to the stark white of her clothes, her hair, her pale eyes.

She’d walked right up to me and spoken like she knew me, like she knew she was in a dream, even. She didn’t seem surprised when I was worried about Phil. Something about the way she’d told me there was nothing to be afraid of sends a small shiver up my spine now despite the blanket, my chilly skin reminding me of the resounding chill of the dream.

Actually, despite the disturbing nature of the events themselves, I’ve been oddly lucky with how I fared tonight. The nail marks are the only injury to be seen so far, I don’t even have to feel that guilty that my best friend saw them. It’s slightly sad to think that he’s probably somewhat relieved. He doesn’t know the whole thing yet though.

I consider this as raindrops continue to drum against the windows outside our apartment, sounding so much like the approaching wave I have to repress it in order to avoid letting the sick feeling in my stomach prevail. I’m trying to forget the dream as quickly as I can, but that’s sometimes easier said than done. Especially this one.

“Oi.” I hear suddenly, a soft, teasing voice shaking me from my thoughts. “Earth to Dan. Is there life in there?”

I blink, tilting my head up to see Phil standing next to the sofa arm, hovering over me with a mug in each hand. He has a bandage and some ointment balanced in the crook of his elbow, the bandage balanced precariously on the ointment lid in typical Phil fashion. He lowers down somewhat awkwardly and hands them to me, an amused smile on his face.

I sit up straighter against the cushion behind me and lift my blanket in an offer to sit down, opening a space big enough for him to fit in alongside.

“Sorry.” I exclaim, shaking my head. “I was zoned out again.”

He just takes a seat next to me and takes my hand, unwrapping the first bandages he slips out of my stationary fingertips. He begins to remove the old bandages and rubs the medicine into each individual cut with precise care before replacing them with new wrappings, not even speaking for a moment.

“I know.” He smiles. “I could tell, always can. Don't apologize for that.”

A bit of thunder rumbles outside. Go figure.

Even still I flinch a little, not catching myself in time enough for him to miss it. Damn him for actually noticing the things anyone else would miss.

“Shh, s’just rain.” Phil's calming voice fills my ears. I close my eyes, my expression softening as he holds my hands in his.

I let him observe my palm without actually looking at it myself, waiting for the verdict as I feel the up-down motion his gaze traces.

“You're healing quite nicely.” He mentions, brushing his nails lightly over the backs of my hands in a way that sends pleasant tingles up my arms, giving me goosebumps.

It’s nice, a lot nicer than I think he even realizes since he misinterprets the motions I make for discomfort.

“Just relax, Dan.” He chides, nodding towards my steaming cup of hot chocolate. He even put marshmallows in it for me, and I almost giggle at how childish it seems.  

I do relax. I'm more than relaxed, actually. I'm content. Peaceful with the sound of soft rain instead of harsh wave and calm with the warmth of Phil's touch, rather than the chill of his death. Now that I’m awake with watery light filtering in between the rainclouds I feel so much more grounded. This storm isn't like the one in my dream. It's real, and it's soothing. Everything feels a lot less terrifying, a lot more real. This is reality at the moment and I like it a lot, staring at Phil while he concentrates, forgetting I’m even looking at him at all.

“Are you feeling alright?” He questions, removing his hands from mine and taking a sip from his blue mug. My mug is black, we’d never mistaken my monochrome things for his vibrant ones.

I nod, letting slow and even breaths drift through me. I can almost take in the scent of Phil, who smells somewhat of chocolate and strawberry shampoo.

It’s a bit of a routine for us by now. We both know by now that some nights are worse than others, in this case the damage is more emotional than physical, his main motive at the moment being more to calm me down rather than to avert any crisis.

It’d probably be bizarre as hell to any outsider, most flatmates have breakfast rituals or some kind of morning chore situation but not us, we deal with my inner psychological madness like it’s just another part of the day. The best part is that sometimes, it is the better part of a day. The dreaming and waking part is never good but it always leads to these cosy mornings on the couch or on one of our beds, making the nights actually worth it nine times out of ten.

If I were a sappier person, I’d probably call it the Phil effect.

Phil makes everything worth it. He never complains, just jumps straight into action with a level calm he can’t even achieve with himself sometimes. For someone  with so much anxiety he always handles things so well, equipped for situations that would leave me floundering if I were on my own.

I look at him sitting quietly, his legs propped up in front of him and his black hair still messy and a bit wavy from sleep. He looks like comfort personified, pushing his boxy glasses up his nose in an absent motion. I realize he’s waiting for me, the blue of his irises a bit alarming in all the grey.

“You’re actually the best.” I blurt suddenly, remembering quite abruptly that I have a voice. It doesn’t just have to be him rambling. “You know that?”

He laughs. “Why? Because I didn’t eat all the marshmallows?”

I chuckle, playfully shoving his shoulder away slightly and feeling the effortless smile appear on my lips as if Phil had drawn it there himself. He wiggles his eyebrows, an endearing gesture. He's adorable in the way he refers to his sugar addiction.

“Yeah, definitely what I was referring to.” I tell him. “Not the bringing a literal first aid arsenal and hot drink to me without even making me get up. You even put the medicine on my hand.”

He stares at me, look blank.

“Why on earth should you have to get up?” He questions, his expression changing a bit. “You've had a rough night, I just want you to feel better.”

I set a dramatic hand on my heart, smiling at him probably a touch more adoringly than necessary. It’s not like he’s even aware anyway, oblivious to how endearing he’s being even now. “My hero.”

“I’m serious.” He says. “You’re playing it off like it’s nothing.”

I wonder if he’s expecting me to be shaken still despite the fact that I’ve had some time to calm down. I guess it is a bit harder to be on his side where he has to guess at everything.

“I know, I know.” I sigh. “I really do feel much better now. Thank you for, well, being you I guess.”

“Are you sure?” He still doesn’t sound convinced. “You literally smacked your head off my chin this morning.”

I shrug. “It happens. It was just another one of those terrifying dream endings. Happens in movies all the time. I do feel better now, you’ve basically ensured that.”

He relaxes a little and I feel relief, noting that if his shoulder was slightly closer I could press mine to it, or maybe put my head on it. If I knew how to go about that in the first place.

“Yeah?”

I nod, sipping my drink again. It’s sweeter than the macchiato in my dream, more real in that way. I know I’m definitely awake now.

“I don’t even think you realize.” I say absently. “I still don’t get why you haven’t up and run from me by now.”

He frowns a bit, making me wonder quietly if he ever gets tired of hearing this bit of insecurity from me. In the back of my mind I know that’s ridiculous, he’s the most patient person I’ve ever met but it comes back all the time. I honestly can’t understand it sometimes.

“Dan, you're my best friend.” He reminds me as he presses the backs of his fingers lightly to my forehead. “You mean everything to me.”

I blink, momentarily speechless at the sentiment he’d just expressed so casually. It’s an unfortunate part of being so attached to him, it feels like I’ve been hit on the head despite the fact that I feel exactly the same. And he just moves right on like he genuinely doesn’t realize he’s said anything out of the ordinary, still feeling my forehead.

“You're warm.” he observes, worry in his voice. “Do you feel sick at all?”

I shake my head. “I don't think so. I told you I feel fine.”

“And I'm telling you that there's something wrong.” He insists. “You know I know, Dan. I'm not forcing you to talk to me, but just remember you can, alright?”

I’m still processing what he’d said just earlier. He’s staring at me from behind his slightly fogged glasses, the steam of his drink ignored in favour of focusing on my expression. It’s like he can see right through me most of the time. There really are no secrets with him and I.

“Yeah.” I blurt, definitely too fast. “Of course.”

He shifts ever so slightly to reach for the remote and after failing to reach it from his reclined position, opts to lift his leg and hit the _on_ button with his foot. The screen comes to life and the sounds of Bake-off fills the room, adding a bit of background noise that helps me sort out my thoughts a bit. I’ve always been the kind of person who concentrates better with a bit of noise. He turns back to me and I can see his expression is expectant, but I know he won’t push me.

“I just-” I try to pinpoint why exactly I’m trying so hard to dismiss it all today and it’s all pretty straightforward once I think about it. I don’t get _why_ he’s here, sitting next to me and cleaning my injuries and bringing me drinks while playing therapist, sitting here like it’s not exhausting to do this day after day after day. How can he be genuine about this?

Phil Lester is my friend, flatmate second and best friend first and foremost. That’s all we are and all we’ve ever been, somehow still together in our second apartment, our second city. I may not have had many friends growing up let alone close ones, but even I know that most friends don’t do this. He’s stayed longer than any normal roommate in the standard situation tends to stay, which is doubly impressive when you factor in the fact that it’s with me. Even my parents had questioned him before, asking why he stayed with me when there’s a whole world out there and we’re out of school now.

Normal friends don’t hang around when their roommate wakes them sometimes multiple times a night. If a regular person walked in on their best friend bleeding and unable to wake up out of nowhere they’d probably turn tail and never go back again. Who wouldn’t be freaked out? Especially since I literally _can’t_ wake up until the dream is over. I never know what I’ll wake up to.

Phil just doesn’t make sense.

“You don’t have to help me dissect my weird dreams.” I tell him, that familiar pit of guilt sitting heavily in my stomach. “That’s probably the last thing you want to do and it’s not like I’m ever going to get better.”

He sighs and I hate that it’s a tired sound, he’s not frustrated with me but he should be. I wish he’d let himself be sometimes, he’s too damn patient.

“You’re not going to convince me not to care if that’s what you’re trying to do.” He argues, keeping his eyes carefully averted so I don’t feel interrogated. “Listen, Dan. I’m not going anywhere, you’re stuck with me.”

He nudges me lightly and I cave a bit, knowing there isn’t any actual pressure here. I don’t have to tell him what I saw and I don’t really want to, but he does deserve to hear it.

“Yeah, you might’ve reminded me of that a couple times.” I reply lightly. He just shrugs.

“I’ll say it as many times as I need to.” He claims.

“Why does it even matter what’s in the dream if it’s over now?” I question. “It wasn’t violent.”

He chews his lip, reaching over and tugging at my blanket to drape some of it over his knees as well. It’s clear he’s making himself comfy, settling himself into my space like he’s always belonged there.

“Well for starters, we’ve established that I was in this one.” He says quietly. “Did something happen? Something that’s bothering you?”

“I told you.” I respond, somewhat hesitant to repeat this again. “You drowned in a tsunami. I had to watch as you died, Phil. That's not something that normally occurs in these dreams.”

Phil- my Phil, shifts next to me, eyes losing contact with mine in an instant as he processes what I've said and deciphers my emotions like he always does. Immediate understanding.

“Oh.” He mumbles, and I know he’s trying to sound nonchalant. There’s really no way to talk around this though.

“Yeah. Like I said, not normal. Not exactly a joy for me either.”

There’s no easy way to talk to your best friend about this. Even after all these years I still feel like I’m overreacting after all the times other people had told me so. I don’t know how Phil sees it differently.

“Is that all that happened? In the dream?” He asks. “What happened to you?”

Weirdly enough, I think back to the café, to the moment before the storm had come and it had been just an ordinary night. Dream-me remembered going there, when we hadn't actually ever been before. Why did I have these false memories?

“Well there was a lead-up and stuff.” I admit. “But I’m not sure if it matters.”

“Of course it does.” He assures me.

“Well I had no idea it was a dream.” I tell him. “I had been so certain it wasn't a dream. I would've bet all my money. I even remembered things that had happened that didn't happen, like fake memories of fake events. I didn't even realize until the storm came and killed you that none of it made sense.”

If the notion that my dreams have literally killed him before my eyes worries Phil in any way he’s doing a remarkable job of hiding it, looking more concerned for me when he should probably be wondering what the hell is wrong with my mind.

“At what point did you start to wonder if maybe what you were seeing wasn’t real?” He asks. “How can you tell?”

I feel a tiny spark of frustration, knowing I can’t even answer that myself.

“That was literally a question your dream self asked me.” I groan. “Him and I established fairly well that I’m pretty damn bad at knowing when I am and am not dreaming.”

“Were you cold?” He tries. “You’re always cold in the dreams, aren't you? sometimes you're shivering at night, even in the summer.”

“I mean, I’m cold now.” I argue. “I call it cold but it’s a weirder feeling than that. This dream was really weird because it was _you_ that was cold. I’m not sure if that counts. This one just felt really, really real.”

“Well you know now that I’m fine.” He says gently.

He still doesn’t really get it. He must know that it’s more complex than that, he’s crazy if he thinks I’m just supposed to be unaffected by this.

“I understand that, but I'm not entirely upset about that alone.” I explain, finnicking with a fraying blanket edge. “It does feel like my dreams have changed drastically, like something is messing with them. I don't know if it was me or maybe it was you being there that did it, but something wasn't normal.”

He raises his eyebrows, caught by something I’ve said.

“You think something’s changing?” He exclaims. “You never mentioned that before.”

“Didn't think it was relevant.” I admit. “I was still in shock I guess, and I just now realized it might be important.”

“Well yeah, it’s important.” He points out. “Even ordinary people with totally boring, ordinary lives find things start to change as they get older. I used to hate bananas as a kid, for example, but I can eat them totally fine now. Who’s to say that your dreams aren’t going to grow and change when you do the same way tastes and experiences do?”

“I’m going to ignore the banana analogy.” I start up, raising the ghost of a smile on his lips as I shake my head, “and question if that’s really a good thing? That sounds like you’re saying I should be preparing for my dreams to get worse.”

“Not necessarily.” He reasons. “Maybe you’re becoming more conscious. Developing immunity the same way you would a virus.”

“Are you saying my dreams are a virus?!” I protest, watching his small smile become a grin.

“ _You’re_ a virus.” He quips. “Can’t wait to be rid of you.”

“Okay, banana man.” I retort, rolling my eyes. ”Rude. I’m waiting for my cure then, time to vac my virus away.”

“Shut up.” He replies evenly, turning to smile warmly at me and assuring there’s no real fire in the words.

“Work your miracle, Lester.” I challenge him.

“Make me.” He chirps, staring solemnly for all of two seconds, holding it valiantly until we lock eyes.

And laugh.

And look up.

This leaves us both staring, grinning like absolute fools because somehow he’s managed to turn it all around once again, taking my nightmare and reducing it to the trivial, internal thing it would be to anyone else.

I try to cling to this moment, to saturate in it, the taste of hot chocolate seeping into my tongue and making this all feel otherworldly in a different way than what the storm or the girl did. This feels like a moment that I could sit in for ages, so much better than any dreamlike cafe because this is reality. Normal, mundane, boring reality. It has Phil, and it tastes like chocolate.

We stare for a couple of beats longer. I raise my head and he raises his his, opening his arms without a word and letting me climb into them, chuckling quietly and setting our mugs aside. I indulge in my earlier wish and set my head on his shoulder, feeling his arms wrap around me and a kind of warmth settle over my heart.

It’s not graceful. I’m still half-blanketed and it trips me as I try to lean over, making me flail a bit to reach him. He doesn’t seem to care anyway, arms encircling my back.

He’s so damn soft. He also smells good, better even because of the marshmallow he’d probably piled in his cup. It builds in a warm, then glowing feeling that wedges in just behind my heart, swelling beyond my control and leaving me a little breathless. At least dream and reality have that in common, Phil makes me feel the same in my real life too, it seems.

He leans closer, his words close to my ear as he runs a free hand absently through the tangled brown mop on my head once. I revel in the motion as he pulls me close, pressing us together gently.

“Hugs fix everything.” He mumbles, squeezing me for emphasis.

I wouldn’t say that’s entirely true, but hell if it works for this moment. I can’t even recall what I’d been so worked up over, now my whole mind is focused on wondering if he can feel the irregularity in my heartbeat.

It seems to happen every time, without failure. No matter what I’m feeling he always manages to make me feel that same damn thing again, like a second curse I don’t mind as much.

I squeeze him back. “You’re an idiot.” I tell him. “But you’ve convinced me somehow. I'm cured.”

“It’s a miracle.” He breathes.

I roll my eyes. “Shut up.”

It doesn’t really matter what I say one way or the other. I’m hugging him too. I realize I've been needing this since I woke up, since I saw such a real version of him so lifeless. Him being here and just being himself as he always is, it's enough.

“Your hugs are always the best.” I quip, giggling as Phil pokes my cheek where it dips from my smile.

“You're going to be okay, Dan.” He whispers seriously, brushing some of my hair behind my ear. “I'll always be here. We'll find a way to get rid of your dreams, I promise.”

I'm taken aback by his statement, as unbelievable as it is. I've been dealing with these nightmares my whole life. If there was a way to fix me I would know by now.

I don't tell Phil. But as far as I'm concerned, this is never going away. In fact, it's just going to get worse.

Instead, I just nod. Closing my eyes, I bury my face in his neck.

“Okay.”

~~~


	3. a curse's convergence

This time, I know I'm dreaming.

The ground is made entirely of black sand, it sinks under my feet as I walk through it. The air smells like rain and the sky above is a dark red, dark clouds swirling ominously like a brewing storm. Everything is suspicious, everything is silent aside from the brief gusts of wind.

I keep my guard up, clenching my teeth in efforts to ignore the harsh wind crashing against my exposed skin. I feel like I've been caught right on the midst of a hurricane, a dark and dangerous cloud, or a convergence of everything that's been in my mind since my last dream.

The fear, the pain, and the vision I still have of my lifeless best friend.

I'm starting to worry now that Phil may be right. Something is definitely different in my dreams, like they're suddenly not so random and they're now targeting my worst fears.

I can't even really put my finger on it. Up until last night I'd never really addressed it before, which probably seems ridiculous considering whatever I go through I have to live with on my actual body for the rest of my day, or week, or maybe even life, but it's true, I'm just figuring it out myself which takes a lot longer than if this had all been handed to me like a lesson paper in a class. It's not like there's any way for me to educate myself on all of this.

I'm aware this time, though it's not the first time. It's just that for whatever reason, this time feels like it matters. Does that mean it hadn't mattered before? I have always been aware of the patterns in my dreams, but now it feels like there was a fluctuation in that pattern. Something changed and it's frustrating me, not knowing what it is.

Did the girl who approached me have something to do with it? As far as I know she could have just been another hallucination, something or someone who's far gone and out of my hair now. It was just the things she said that are making me believe otherwise. It's not like I'm an expert in strange dream diseases.

What had Phil said? He seemed to have the idea that because I was getting older, that maybe my dreams were growing and changing just like I was. I never remember distinct people in any dream I've had before, not even the nightmares from my very early childhood days when the wounds on my skin still scared me. Yeah he'd joked that my dreams were kind of like a virus in a way, but now I'm starting to wonder if there's actually something wrong with me. In other words, there's a chance my dreams could become deadly. Or more so than usual.

Somehow, the problem doesn't seem as simple as taking some medicine and lying down for a nap to wait the problem out. I don't want to watch myself lose Phil again, it's bad enough that he's in my dreams at all. I don't want to think about why he would be let alone why my mind would do that to him. If the damage done to me while I'm sleeping is already more bad than it was before, who knows what could happen if it gets worse.

One thing I've learned about my dreams over the years is they're triggered by the things I'm afraid of. It could be, that the reason I saw him die was because that's what I'm most afraid of. What if instead of being caused by the small little details the scare me each day alone, but if it's accumulative, targeting the more significant fears, the sensitive ones I may not have even known existed, because I've never had to think about it before?

Suddenly shivering, I'm much less confident in this current dream.

The wind gusts a little more strongly for a moment, making me stumble on my feet before I regain my balance. It's a strange setting this time, not looking like anywhere I could have possibly visited in my life. There's been lots of places that I don't recognize of course but they still always resembled real life, usually some strange city or old building that my mind created. I don't see any buildings now, just sand, dark sky, a more unrealistic setting.

I think about Phil's ominous statement in the last dream,  _storm's coming._ I can't really tell what this is, the wind is strong at times but it comes and goes. I almost feel like I'm in a tunnel.

That Phil wasn't real, I remind myself. I can't keep getting hung up over losing him even if it made me as distraught as it did. He's home right now, he must be. Fast asleep in the other room just as my body is right now in mine. For all I know this could be a storm too and even though that might mean nothing the coming of a storm brought horrible things last time.

So why am I here?

I jump when the wind is joined by another distant sound, but it's getting closer. I can't tell what it is, and if I hadn't been paying attention I would have mistaken it for heavier winds. The winds that feel strong against my body, but are seemingly nothing against the stagnant ground of pure black sand. Unnatural. It's stiller than my heartbeat at this point. But no, that's not what this sound is.

I see the source on the horizon. Waves.

My heart leaps into my throat as my mind instantly flashes back to the tsunami in my previous dream. That is until I realise these waves are no threat, in fact I can see them a bit more clearly now. They're just normal sized rolls of water rushing towards the shore and crashing into the perfectly flat earth. This isn't earth. I don't even know  _what_  this is.

The body of water is the first thing to break up the perfectly flat horizon so far. All of it, everything is dark and unnaturally coloured, almost as if my mind wants me to know I'm out of place. I'm well aware by this point, I don't even need the typical coldness for that reminder.

The closer I walk, the more I can see the waves and the louder they are. If this were a normal beach in a normal part of the world I might have walked a few feet in but in here I just approach them, gazing around as if a landscape will suddenly materialize out of nowhere. I have no idea what it  _means._

Then the waves begin to change. They start growing rapidly in size, screaming with each crash and sending me stumbling back. They start moving in different directions until they aren't waves anymore, they've formed a whirlpool. A massive beast of one I might add.

I take another step backwards, too stunned to noticed I've stepped on my own trembling foot and I have absolutely no control over the momentum. I gasp as I fall back, but I never meet the ground.

Instead, I crash into someone's arms.

At first my mind goes to Phil. Maybe he's not real, but maybe a dream version of him is here to take me back to reality. I just want to get the hell out of here and back to him.

But it's not Phil. They have the right height, but everything else is off. I'm not relieved, not when I turn to face the mystery person. I recognise them immediately.

I mean to say something, to ask what's going on or exclaim I-don't-know-what, but I can't think. My mind blanks as I try to blink away the sight, shocked.

I meet her eyes, blurting out one word instead.

"You."

One moment ago, I'd been falling. Now I lurch back, away from the strong hands that had broken my fall because it's the same face. Pale, with cold eyes and a cool expression, sharp cheeks framed by white-blond hair. She meets my eyes and I just barely stop myself from falling right into the spiralling water behind me, mind flashing back instantly to the moment in the last dream, just before the wave.

It's the same girl who'd taunted me before I'd lost Phil.

She reaches out her hand, and I'm half-expecting her to push me back, to knock me into the water. Before I can raise my hands she's grabbed me by the collar of the shirt,

Her fingers are freezing, but she yanks me towards her, rather than away.

I almost go falling right into the sand. She has to drag me a bit to get us far enough from the water but she lets go fairly soon, like she's aware I'm half-expecting to fight with her. I stumble to my feet just as she opens her mouth, eyes widening.

"Woah!" she exclaims, backing away and raising her hands to indicate she means no threat. "Watch it. You're gonna send yourself right into that if you're not careful."

She backs up slightly, giving me room to step. I take a sharp breath, making sure my feet are firm on the ground before I respond. I'm half expecting her to laugh at me again, in the taunting, sadistic way she'd done last.

"What the hell do you want?" I demand, trying to hide the shaking throughout my body. It's somehow gotten colder.

  
I look her in the eye, demanding an explanation. She'd stood by so calmly when Dream-Phil's life had been on the line, it doesn't make sense that she'd be trying to save me now. She looks like I'm speaking so out of line for someone who'd been fairly good to stand and watch last time.

"Relax." She says calmly. "I'm not attacking you."

I can't tell if she's serious, if she thinks this is how to mess with my mind. The first consistent stranger to ever appear in my dreams and she's one that had put me in danger before, acting like that had never happened at all.

"You sure seemed to want to attack me last time." I remind her, taking another cautious step backwards. She just shakes her head with a sad smile.

"I was trying to  _warn_ you, Dan." She corrects me. "You're dreams are changing and if you don't deal with them correctly you could put yourself in some serious danger."

"Even more danger than I've already been in?" I wonder sarcastically, showing the scars from my wolf dream on my arm to her. They're several months old but this evidence will never go away. What could possibly be worse besides death?

Is she implying I could die?

I can tell she's surprised by the marks but not in the way I'm hoping, her expression suggests I've just confirmed whatever she's been thinking.

"If you think a tsunami wave is bad, you obviously haven't hung out in some of the dreams that I have." She replies, waving her hand. "If you're thinking it was me, I had no control over that at all, there's no stopping these dreams. You'll learn that in due time."

I want to yell at her and tell her I wasn't referring to the damn tsunami, but I'm too intrigued by this information.

"You hang out in dreams all the time, do you?" I ask her. "Know exactly what they're like?"

"Let's just say the dreamworld is a nasty place." She says simply. "Although your dream last night was pretty bad."

"Bad? You didn't seem too bothered when I was terrified for my best friend." I snap, raising my eyebrows.

"I didn't realize you knew him." She says with a shrug, staring at the water for a moment. "You know half the people in dreams are ones made up by your mind. If it was a friend of yours I'm guessing you woke up and found out he was fine. It's not like it was actually him."

"He was, but I- I'm not sure I understand." I stammer. "How do you know this? Why was he in my dream?"

"It was your dream." She looks thoughtful, meeting my eyes. "It's not like it's a strange thing that sometimes the brain uses familiar faces. The dreamworld isn't kind to any extra characters, you were probably bound to lose him anyway. It's not like it affects the actual person."

"So you're saying we couldn't have saved Phil even if you wanted to?" I ask, slightly less panicked.

She nods. "That's exactly what I'm saying. Dreams target fears. You're obviously afraid of losing your friend. It was going to happen before you woke no matter what you did."

"Which makes sense," I concede, "except I'm pretty sure most people tend to not to have recurring dreams like that. Am I crazy or is my mind just too dark, because I don't think it's normal to see something like that, let alone converse with some strange girl when I've never seen the same person twice in one place."

She raises her eyebrows, apparently caught by one thing I've said.

"Do you want the good news or the bad news?" She asks, giving me the ghost of a smile for the first time.

"What?"

"I hate to break it to you, but you're not having the same dreams as most people." She states calmly. "Not if you've met me."

The words are calm but it's clear this statement is meant to be dramatic, the wind whipping me again for a moment.

"I'm aware of that." I huff, impatient. "I understand that what's happening, what's been happening to me since I was a kid isn't normal, but what I don't understand is why my dreams are changing. I've never had dreams like this before."

"You didn't let me finish." She sighs, still calm. "If you've met me then it means your dreams are evolving. There are a number of people in the real world who have this curse, and one by one the dreamworld targets them. You're next I assume."

I nearly stop breathing.

"Am I going to die?'

"No, you won't die." She corrects me. "Once your dreams begin to attack you start to dissociate with reality and eventually, you'll be trapped here. That's what happened to me."

"So why are you here?" I breathe.  
  


"I was the first one here. I've been here for a long time actually. I think I can help you."

It's a lot to take in at once. It's almost as if she knows what's happening here, when I've been confused and helpless for years.

"What-" I look around uselessly, seeing nothing but dark red clouds swirling in the infinite sky. "What the hell is going on?"

"I think we need to take a walk together." She suggests. "It's been a long time since I've met anyone from outside of the dream verse. It's only going to get worse from here, you might as well start learning about why your conscious is doing this."

She holds her arms in front of her, gesturing down the coastline. I hesitantly follow right beside her, watching as the massive hole in the ocean grows as we walk.

"So I should probably introduce myself." She chuckles, staring into the distance. "My name is Eirlaleene."

"Dan." I reply. "But I'm guessing you already knew that."

She smiles, not saying anything. I take that as a yes, a cue to keep talking.

"So you said you've been here a long time. How long might I ask?"  
  


"Oh I don't know," She says thoughtfully. "Ten years or so, you lose concept of time when you're suspended in dreaming. This is a fairly new curse, but I know I was the first to have it. People didn't start showing up here for a while after I was trapped."

An ominous feeling settles over me at the last word in that explanation, knowing there aren't many alternate meanings to it.

"What do you mean by trapped?"  
  


"There's a tear between two different universes. Everyone with this disease has one." She explains. "This place is the subconscious of every living being, but only those with the curse have been here, and those people's dreams are what this world thrives off of."

She gestures to the whirlpool, which looks even more unreal and daunting now that it's grown, and apparently followed our movements. The body of water itself has grown too, expanding so that it looks as infinite as it would if I were home, staring at the ocean.

"Overtime, the nightmares you have aren't enough. The dreamworld will take control of your mind. It understands you better than you understand you, and it will use everything in the depths of your mind to its advantage, weakening your will until eventually, you no longer have the ability to travel back and forth between here and reality. You'll be stuck here, just like I am, forced through much like drowning in that whirlpool over there. The rift closes and your body falls into a comatose state permanently."

I can feel my head spinning slightly, my mind racing to try and make sense of it all. It feels like something bigger than me, a danger I've always been exposed to without having ever been aware of it. Mostly it makes me feel panic, trying to comprehend how I could ever combat the force of my own mind.

"I can stop this, right?" I squeak, feeling ice in my bones.

"Of course." She assures quickly. "Many people have. I'll just have to show you how, because the deeper into your mind the universe travels, the worse the nightmares will be. You'll be met with fears and drives you never even knew existed."

"That... doesn't sound good." I get out, voice faint. "Where are all the other people you've met? Will I be able to see them if it's my dream?"

"Yes, but it wouldn't be a good thing if you do." She explains. "The more real people you see the deeper into the dreamworld you are. They live like I do, among the various dreams of others. It's like constantly being inside different people's heads which I guess we technically are."

"How do I get out?" I gasp, feeling claustrophobic even though this landscape is endless. I'm not even in any danger but all I can think about suddenly is how desperately I want to wake up, to get back to reality before I'm trapped too. "I can't stay here, I have to get back to Phil, and my house-"

"Calm down." She says abruptly. "Back, to Phil? Is he that important? No wonder he was in your dream then. You must really care about him."

"He's uh, my friend, my best friend. " I mumble. "We live together."

I feel a weird jump in my chest and turn to the waves, unable to look at her suddenly. I don't know why, she hasn't said anything strange, it just feels weirdly personal.

"He must be some friend." She observes. "If you're mentioning him before your house. Flatmate of the year or something?"

"I want to get back to him." I say stubbornly. "How do I do that?"

"You have to be smarter than your dreams, Dan." She tells me, walking up behind me. "Focus on what you know is real. Try and take deep breaths and slow your heart rate. You can't panic."

Oh great. No panicking. Surely this should be a walk in the park then.

"Remember, the dreams feed off of results, or fear rather." She adds. "You need to teach yourself how to remain calm even in the worst of situations."

"I literally have anxiety." I groan. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"It's different than that." She says calmly. "It's mostly about focus. Your dreams stem from unease in your own mind. You have to accept the things deep down in your mind that are holding you back, and understand how they manifest here."

"I feel like I'm talking to a therapist." I scoff. "And how on earth do I  _accept these thoughts?"_

"It's not something I can just teach you." She replies to my cold statement, eye trained on the back of my head. "I'm not some bloody dream professor."

I shrug, shivering as I exhale slowly. I'm growing anxious again.

"The whirlpool is representation enough of how difficult it can be." She says testily, nodding towards it. "That's this dream's representation of the entire reality right there. It wants you back, wants to return you to a world where hundreds of anxious thoughts are floating around that you aren't even aware of. I didn't say it'd be easy at first."

I shake my head wordlessly and she seems to notice my dismay, softening her words a bit.

"You'll get the hang of it." She assures me. "Trust me. We accepted one fear today, didn't we? The fear of losing your best friend? Phil probably won't be appearing in your dreams again, at least not likely. It sometimes is as easy as that."

I look down at my feet and see them completely sunken in the dark sand. It's not normal and the strangeness just adds to my unease. Nothing about this is natural, paired with Eiraleene's words it's making everything even harder to digest.

"Well that's just bloody great, isn't it?" I huff. "Clears everything right up."

"You know at least that you're not alone." She points out. "You've already displayed the symptoms of someone with the curse. You've had a dream about a wolf, then? That's what left that scar behind?"

My jaw drops. "How did you know?"

"I can recognise a few things." She steps closer to me with a sympathetic attitude on her face and in her voice. "How old were you when you had that dream?"

"I was twenty." I tell her, remembering the night far too vividly. "It was just a few months ago but I'm twenty-one now."

I turn back around, lowering my head to face the ground.

"That sounds about right." She agrees. "You've probably noticed that the dreams or the wounds have gotten more intense lately, maybe in the last year or so. It's a clear indicator for when your world has begun to intersect with the dreamworld."

I think back to certain nights, to ones shortly after Phil and I had first moved into the new flat and he'd found out about my disease. I'd been shaken awake, eyes shooting open to see Phil's eyes filled with tears, his breaths sharp and terrified because he'd come in and seen me bleeding through my pajamas from wounds that had come from seemingly nowhere.

Most of the time he couldn't even wake me, forced to ride it out while I shook and cried out. I never felt them happening but I certainly felt them when I woke up. After those nights, it didn't stay a secret long.

I'm about to say something, but the winds behind me drown out my question. The whirlpool behind me is swirling back into action at alarming speeds, pulling the air out from all around me and out of my lungs, suffocating me with the slight as I turn.

That's when I feel it, the lack of oxygen, the weight of the vacuum. My feet slide across the sand and before I can think I'm being pulled towards the viscous water against my will. I scream with what little air I have left in me in a pathetic gasp, trying to move my feet away from the edge of the waves biting at my shoes.

It's no use. I flail my arms helplessly as I trip and fall, landing on my side with my legs dangling into the void below me, the heavy currents pushing me further as I grasp at the dark ground.

A blur of white appears in my hazy vision and I feel someone grabbing my hand, holding me against the spiral I'm being sucked into. I still can't breathe, I can't speak, I can't even think.

"Hold on!" Eiraleene calls, wrapping her fingers around my wrist. I try to reach for her other hand but the force dragging it into the water is too strong. None of my movements are voluntary. 

My clothes are soaked with water, my bandages washed away and the salt seeping into my cuts. I wince and cry out at the feeling, my body simultaneously being pushed past it's limit as the gravitational force of this whilrpool is so much stronger than eiraleene. It's like a black hole, as dark as the sand I'm barely hanging on by.

"I might be able to pull you out if we can wait for it to subside a bit." She explains. If could say anything I would tell her it's not possible, but I'm stunned into silence. I only nod.

"Remember, whatever you inflict on yourself in the dream, you inflict in real life." She reminds me hurriedly. "Focus on breathing. Don't stop breathing in real life."

My eyes widen, the command enough for me to open my mouth and gasp in a breath, the grip of my hand tightening slightly as I try to force my mind on that thought, taking in salty air and breathing it back out because surely Phil will notice if I stopped, panic when I stopped to the point where it's too late and I can never escape the dreamworld again.

Then there's a harsh noise, a crash of some kind, almost like shattering glass. I can't see it but I can hear it. I want to scream again, my fear of the dark, of the empty void, it's getting to me. I'm terrified of falling.

The expression on Eiraleene's face changes. Now, she doesn't just seem so concerned with saving me.

"This must be you waking up, Dan." She realises. "Don't worry, I won't let you die."

I shake my head in protest. She can't be sure of that. How can she be sure? Is she just going to let me go?

She answers my question by letting my hand slip from in between hers. My heart lurches and my body drops, the darkness and sound of rushing water swallowing me. I fall, my vision going blank as I'm shrouded in darkness and surrounded by crashing waves.

Then, nothing.

~~~

I wake up in an instant, a cloud in my eyes and a cold sweat on my forehead. Shivering in disbelief, I remember everything perfectly.

The flat is silent, I can't even tell what time of the morning it is. There's no sounds of heavy rain or crashing waves this time. No smaller storm to be dealt with, just the sound of pure, painful silence.

So much just happened. I've just learnt more about my dreams in one night than in my entire life and yet the real world is still and hazy, syrupy-slow with the drag of early morning before the sun. It feels almost as unreal, dreamlike in a way that my dreams definitely aren't. I'd almost think to question for a moment if my dream was even real at all, except my heart is still pounding way too hard and I still feel short of breath.

I don't really stop to think then.

I push off my covers, moving to stand up. I feel the coldness of the floor beneath my feet but I don't let it stop me, standing up off of the mattress and moving to the door. My mind is swirling and overcome with too many thoughts, too much contained at once to keep straight in my head.

Not alone, at least.

The path is so familiar I could almost walk it in my sleep. Five steps to the door, one click as the knob turns that sounds way too loud in the stillness of the morning. One push as the door swings open and two paces across the hall, across grey carpet worn down by the coming and going of two flatmates with two busy but I intertwined lives, separate, but together.

He must be asleep right now. Now that I'm in the hall I can see the lounge and the room is mostly shrouded in shadow. It's too early for a proper conversation but I just need to see his face, even just for a moment. I might not even wake him up at all.

I hesitate for a moment longer but decide that I'm here anyway, might as well just be stupid about it. I reach for the doorknob, twisting it gently and edging my way in as the door opens.

Because in this moment, I just want to see Phil.

I exhale quietly in relief when the door doesn't creak. I can see a lump in his blue-green duvet, moving slightly to confirm he's there. Through the window a clip of sun shines through the blinds and casts a rainbow in various spots on the carpeted ground, creating a peaceful environment where I don't have to think about life or death.

I just have to sit at the edge of the bed and stay here with him, letting go of all of the thoughts clogging my brain. I just have to simply relax, and just like that, I understand what Eiraleene said. Phil won't mind, I'd have probably just ended up in here eventually anyway by his volition if I didn't do it myself.

I'm smarter than my fears. I'm smarter than my dreams.

I have a bit of confidence, and it's all I need to lie down next to my best friend and snake my arm over side side, holding him loosely, albeit close.

I don't wake him because I'd rather let him sleep through the morning, but I'll still be here. I'll always be here, next to him, in  _my_ world.

I won't let anything besides him take me. 

~~~


	4. safety net

~~~

 

_ “Fade away to the wicked world we left, and I become the dark of you.”  _

_ -Dark of You,  _ Breaking Benjamin

 

~~~

 

I don't fall back out, I couldn't. After that dream, all I could do was shiver at the memory of being swept away by an endless void. 

 

So I find myself at the edge of Phil's bed, watching as his chest rises and falls smoothly, indicating his content sleep. 

 

I tend to let myself feel jealous sometimes. How could I not? All my life all I've wanted was one night where I could guarantee there would be no nightmares. I haven't had one of those in a long time. It's a mixture of guilt and jealousy really, and I hate it. I hate it when I feel this way.

 

So I let it leave my head. I breathe slowly and let the thoughts come and go, and I lay down.

 

I had forgotten I was in Phil's bed.

 

Next thing I know I'm lying next to Phil, eyes wide when he rolls over and throws an arm over me, holding me in place to where I'm unable to get up without waking him. He doesn't know he's done it, nor does he know I'm here.

 

I feel tense, knowing he'll wake up soon. When he does I'm going to have to explain this. I don't understand why I'm scared, it's just Phil. It's just my best friend, the one person I can trust with anything. It's not like he's one to judge.

 

His breath stutters.

 

My nearly nearly stops, plummeting in my chest when his eyes begin to flutter open. My mind is racing with  _ what's my explanation? What's my explanation?  _ as he's waking up.

 

His eyes are fully open, his blinks sleepy as he keeps a secure hold around my torso now, pulling me closer.

 

Everything in my body falters when his breath floats over my neck like warm feathers. 

 

“Dan?” He mumbles in a foggy voice. “Are you okay?” 

 

I swallow, my throat dry and my nerves at a high from the anxiousness and the closeness combined. Why do I feel so strange now? I even remember my dreams for the first five seconds of Phil's face being inches from mine, his fingers tickling my chin worriedly as he wonders what drove me to randomly join him in the middle of the night.

 

I exhale, smiling when my heart seems to start beating normally again. “Yeah, I think so.”

 

“What happened?” He whispers, pushing my hair back. 

 

This is a level of intimacy I'm not used to experiencing with Phil, but I am in no way uncomfortable. I know he cares about me and that he's here because he wants to be. 

 

The guilt lifts away like a weight off my shoulders. My smile is genuine. 

 

“S'was just another dream.” I reply hazily. “I'm fine now.” 

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

I nod my head. “Of course.”

 

I sit up, Phil's palm still lingering on my chest and keeping me steady. I feel a flutter in my chest where his fingers lie.

 

He removes his hand and I have no shame in letting him know I want it back. I feel safe with him because he's the only person that truly understands the things that happen to me.

 

_ It's just a bonus that my best friend happens to be really beautiful.  _ I think. 

 

“Wh-what?” I stutter aloud, immediately regretting it. 

 

“Dan?” Phil says firmly. “Dan, hey. it's okay, it's just me.”

 

I let out a shaky breath, leaning back and letting him hug me from behind. I'm not as cold anymore.

 

I hope he keeps holding me. That’s all I really want right now. For all the inadvertent thoughts entering my mind I can’t exactly deny this one, at least not to myself. Not even with the remnants of my dream still lingering in my mind, he’s only just woken up and he’s already making things better.

 

His palm is still on my chest so I set a hand over it, securing it in place while I gather my thoughts. I don’t even really know where to begin. He's here whenever I'm ready to say anything, not even questioning why he’s just woken up to me in his bed as if that’s a thing we do all the time. Not that it’s a strange thing but usually there’s some kind of reason behind it, this morning it feels more like something I just really need.

 

He still looks a bit dazed, probably sleepy like any sane person would be but even so his eyes are focused on me like whatever’s on my mind is what matters in this moment. It’s so blatantly there in his expression that it almost catches me off guard a bit, the amount of wordless openness that one look can convey.

 

“It’s stupid.” I get out, not sure what else to say. “It was just a dream again.”

 

“Well it wasn’t stupid then.” He replies instantly. His eyes trail my expression, his features firm, yet caring. “You look like you haven’t slept in days, what happened?”

 

“I don’t really know what to say.” I admit. How do I explain what was so unsettling about this dream, or how I met someone? How do I really know that any of that was real? 

 

“Start maybe by telling me about it?” He suggests. “We can probably dissect it better or whatever if we both roughly know the events.”

 

I sigh, tipping my head back onto his shoulder and letting the tension leave my limbs. I don't really know how to start, it all happened so fast and there was an overwhelming amount if information to take in. I'm having trouble just recalling all of it. 

 

Our cheeks brush against each other's briefly, and Phil doesn't let go of me. He never would. His arms wrapped around me is my safe space, and I know I'm safe with him. Just that small contact alone helps me to clear my head, and makes my heart beat a little bit faster.

 

“You were right.” I start, folding my own arms over his. “My dreams  _ are _ changing.” 

 

“For the better?” He smiles at me excitedly, optimistic as ever. 

 

His expression is so hopeful I almost feel bad about telling the truth, gathering my thoughts and shrugging noncommittally.

 

“Worse.” I say before I can stop myself. “I’m pretty sure you were right about them changing with my age, but they aren't the way they used to be. Not anymore.”

 

I omit the fact that I probably wouldn’t be hunkering in his bed if the change were a good thing. He doesn’t really need any more bad news.

 

His smile drops. “What do you mean?”

 

I take in a breath, realising why it is I had felt the need to seek his reassurance. 

 

I pull back my sleeve, tracing my finger over the familiar scar on my forearm. Phil lets me, but I can feel his breath running short on my neck. 

 

“They're like this now.” I squeak, turning around so Phil has me situated on his leg. “They- they're deadly.” 

 

I remember the dream, the closest I ever came to death. Knowing I'm going to have more and more deadly nightmares makes my skin crawl. 

 

Phil’s eyes widen, an expression of concern overtaking the calm that had been there just before. Even though it’s warranted, I still feel a surge of guilt for worrying him, as well as fear at knowing this is only going to get worse.

 

“Wait, all of them?” He breathes. 

 

I nod slowly, avoiding eye contact with him. 

 

“All of them.” I confirm. “And I don’t think they’re going to get better.”

 

“Hold on.” He looks away from me and I can tell his mind is racing, having heard the exact opposite of what he’d wanted to hear. “How do you know that? You can’t be sure.”

 

“I’m sure.” I snap frustratedly. “I can’t keep telling myself things are fine, the dream I had tonight was different this time and I’m pretty sure it just gave me the explanation.”

 

I don’t mean to be so cross with him but there’s no use in deluding ourselves right now. I don’t want to be told everything’s all right because it’s not. I’m trying to work things out in my mind and I need him to listen.

 

“There are others.” I ramble. “There are other people out there who have this curse, Phil. I met one of them.” 

 

“Dan, Dan!” He grabs my arm and rubs his hand over my head, smoothing my curls down. “Shh, slow down. Start from the beginning.”

 

He breathes with me for a few moments of silence, but I can hear how shaky his breaths are as soon as they leave his trembling lips. I've scared him. 

 

“Okay, alright.” I slow my breaths to the point where I'm as calm as possible, focusing on the points of contact between us while I try to sort out my mind. “It started with the dream I had the other night. The one where you, you know.” 

 

I'm making incoherent hand gestures, unsure of how to address it.

 

“Drowned?” He finishes, expression nervous. “Sorry.” He quickly adds. 

 

I bite my lip, shrugging weakly.

 

“It was just before that. You were missing when the storm started, and that when I first saw her.”

 

“Her.” He repeats, unsure. “Someone I know?”

 

“No, never saw her before then. I assumed she was just another illusion. After all, she had come off a bit threatening. “

 

“Threatening? Threatening how?”

 

“Well I thought she'd sent the storm. You had been telling me it was coming and she told me I should listen to you. I think she was trying to warn me?”

 

“Why's that?”

 

“She said so. She showed up again.”

 

I tell him everything Eiraleene told me. From the things that happen when the curse infected people are trapped, and the vague explanation she gave me about fighting off my nightmares, getting the better of them.

 

And Phil listens. He listens like nobody else would. 

 

“I read somewhere once that your brain doesn’t create faces.” He murmurs. “The people you see in your dreams are always someone you’ve seen before, even if it was just for a split second.”

 

I try to go back and think if I’ve ever seen some girl like Eiraleene before, but my answer comes fairly fast.

 

“Well I think it’s pretty safe to say I don’t dream the same way that most people do.” I say evenly. “But I’m pretty sure she’s real.”

 

There’s a small silence and in the darkness I see him play around a corner of the duvet while he ponders, expression thoughtful.

 

“Can you trust her?” He asks. The question surprises me. I’d been bracing for him to correct me and explain that her actually existing couldn’t be possible, or maybe some question as to why I’m taking this dream so seriously. He deserves a lot more than credit for having this open of a mind.

 

“I kind of have to, don’t I?” I laugh darkly. “She’s the only one who knows what’s going on. I don’t really have any other options.”

 

“I don't know, are you sure?” He concerns. “The way you talk about her, I don't feel comfortable with you putting your life in her hands.”

 

“I didn’t say I was doing that.” My voice comes out somewhat defensive. “She’s the first person in my life to give me viable information, something that makes sense. She tried to help me tonight, maybe I need to just talk to her.”

 

“This entire situation is so crazy.” He groans. “You have no idea what this girl's intentions are. For all we know she could be lying to you.”

 

“She says she’s met so many others.” I recall.

 

“She also conveniently came as soon as we were swept away by a tsunami.” He reminds me. “I don't exactly classify that as trustworthy behaviour.“

 

I want to argue, but I'm more astonished by the things he remembers about my dreams. I never doubted he listened, but actually being able to identify all these things in my head is something I didn't expect. He’s really taking me seriously.

 

“There was nothing she could have done. It was  _ my _ dream.” I explain, softening my voice. “Either way, she means  _ something _ . No one else has ever conversed with me directly about it before.”

 

“It’s weird that this entire thing is entirely inside your head.” He mumbles. “Like there’s nothing I can do to stop this, it’s not even really in your mind so much as it’s this whole, terrifying thing.”

 

“It's the dreamworld.” I tell him. “That's what it's called. It's actually its own universe.”

 

“Really?”

 

I keep expecting his face to falter, to see some sign that he doesn’t believe me. It has to sound so ludicrous to an ordinary person, no one’s ever beloved me before.

 

“You’d think for all it put me through it’d be something more dramatic but yeah.” I say honestly, “that’s what it is.”

 

“And it's attacking you? How does a whole universe attack just you?” He questions. I shrug.

 

“Because I happened to be cursed into being stuck with it, I guess.” I sigh. “It goes after each individual person, taking control of their minds. I'm next.” 

 

“Dan…” Phil breathes, distraught. He's hesitating. “Don’t say that.”

 

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

 

“Dan, what's going to  _ happen _ to you? You're scaring me.”

 

“Well, bloody brilliant.” I huff. “I’m scared too.”

 

“I just-” his face resembles the most discomfort I’ve ever seen him in.“I wish I could  _ do  _ something. I feel useless. I can't lose you.”

 

The stress and anger I’m feeling dies down a bit at that, my heart crawling up into my throat at how feeble and quiet his words have gone.

 

“I know.” I blurt. “You won't lose me. I'm not going anywhere.” 

 

“It’s more than that, though.” He points out. “This is going to happen just about every time you sleep. Except for those nights you don’t dream, this is just going to keep going. I feel like I'm losing you every night, and now that we kind of understand how your dreams function I guess I technically am.” 

 

I freeze, my thoughts faltering at those words. 

 

“I don’t know what to do.” I say helplessly.

 

“You don’t mean it when you say they’re all deadly now, do you?” He pleads. “Please, Dan. I won't let you die.” 

 

It’s those words that hurt more than any of the dream wounds actually do. I don’t even want to think about the fear and distress these dream nights will probably put him through, never mind the ones that already have. Everything feels so frail in the darkness of the morning when our emotions are as fragile as glass. It’s dangerous for him to care about me like he does, almost more dangerous than it is for me to care the amount I care about him.

 

“Can I… stay in here?” I ask him. “I’m sorry, I- I don’t want to be alone.”

 

“Always.” He assures me. “I have nowhere important to be. Just lay back down with me.”

 

“I’m sorry for waking you up.” I blurt. I lay down when Phil smiles. He pokes my face. 

 

“What did I tell you about apologising?” He quips, hovering over me. 

 

I can't help but grin, remembering exactly what he's referring to. 

 

I had expressed my guilt to him one night not to long ago, placing all the blame on myself when I could see how sleep deprived he was. He didn't want me to know he'd started watching over me at night, but I knew. 

 

I had started rambling on about how sorry I was and how terrible I felt. I hated myself then. I still hate what he goes through for me now, but we've learned somewhat how to cope. 

 

Phil has helped me with that. 

 

“You said every time I did it you’d tickle me.” I recall, blushing. I kind of want him to, despite being sensitive to that, I want to be happy.

 

Phil grins from ear to ear, reaching his hands out and wrapping his fingers around my sides. “Have I ever lied to you?” He asks rhetorically.

 

I shriek when he starts flicking his fingers, just barely digging them in to my skin where he knows will draw out the most laughter. I roll over kicking my legs involuntarily and wheezing in response to the feeling of Phil's hands against my stomach.

 

My breath catches in my throat when I see him. He's putting on a smile, trying his best to make me do the same, but I can see the tears still present in his eyes, his face red as he struggles to not let them fall.

 

“Phil,” I breathe. “Hey.” 

 

He eventually stops, lowering his head and letting gravity pull him to the covers. The bottom half of his face is obscured as he looks at me, his eyes just barely visible, blending in to the blues and greens of his duvet. I can tell he wants to cry, and quite frankly, so do I. 

 

I can't stop myself from lunging forth and burying my face in his shoulder, hugging him. It may seem weird, but I don't care. I know he wanted me to. I know I wanted to. 

 

“Thank you.” I mumble into his neck. He just chokes out a sob, shivering with each slow breath he takes. I can feel his heartbeat, almost as fast as mine, if not faster. 

 

“I'm never letting you go.” He croaks. “If the dreamworld wants you it'll have to go through me first.”

 

“I don't think that's how it works Phil.” I chuckle. “You can't even enter the dreamworld. You're not cursed.” 

 

“I just wish there was something I could do.” He sighs, lips brushing my hair with every word he says. “I feel so useless.”

 

“You're doing so much.” I remind him. “I'd be curled up in a corner right now if it weren't for you.” 

 

His lips twist into a sad smile and he pulls me closer with a huff. His eyes trail over my face as he bites his lip, his breath staggering. 

 

Suddenly, he freezes.

 

I don't know why, but he's tense now. Have I done something? 

 

“How about I go get you some water or something. I have to use the toilet anyways, might as well.” He rambles as he sits up, avoiding eye contact with me. 

 

I’ve done something, haven't I? He refuses to look at me.

 

“Phil, what? What did I do?” I concern, stuttering profusely. 

 

He shakes his head, leaving. “I'll be back. I promise it's not you.” 

 

_ He promises  _ I think. 

 

_ Have I ever lied to you? _

 

No, he never has and he never will. 

 

I still can't help the anxiety, but I trust him. Maybe he really does just need to get up and he doesn't want me to see the emotion. 

 

When he quickly returns, he hands me a glass of water and then practically runs to the bathroom. I hear him lock the door. 

 

My first instinct is to follow, but I don't. He obviously wants to be alone right now. What I do, is listen. My heart breaks when I hear faint sobbing. 

 

I don't go after him. I stay put, sipping water carefully while sitting at the edge of the bed. He has a lot of information to digest, and if he doesn't want me there for that, I'll stay here, on the other side of the wall. Then thins walls that let me hear everything he does, that allow me not to worry as much, because really, he isn't gone.

 

I just can't see him, and  _ god  _ do I want to hug him. 

 

When he finally does leave, I don't ask him why he spent nearly an hour in there. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr @lemonheadlester


	5. shadows and colours

**Warnings: hallucination, sensory overload**

 

~~~

 

I can hear a familiar sound coming from down the hall, growing clearer the moment I step close to the lounge door and recognize where it’s coming from.

 _Game of Thrones_ , the volume up maybe a little louder than usual but still distinctly from one of the older seasons. It reminds me of all the nights Phil and I have spent holed up on the sofa together watching it, a bowl of popcorn between us and a blanket covering both of our knees as we hummed out the theme song together.

It’s sort of a tradition, we’ve done it over and over again no matter how many times it happened. It’s generally a nice memory to look back on but the difference is that I’m not there to watch it with him this time, I’m just hearing it through the wall after staying in my room for the better half of an hour.

It’s strange to hear familiar sounds from another room, everything in place except for me being a part of it. I think that’s what draws me out after staying back for so long, my initial plan being to just give my best friend space.

I get as far as the entryway and hold back a bit, wondering if Phil wants to be alone right now or not. I’m not entirely sure what’s wrong, one moment we were talking about my dreams and then the next moment he was gone. To most people it probably wouldn’t matter if their flatmate was watching a show without them but this is our shared show, and Phil hasn’t spoken to me since we’d been in my room together.

I don’t know what I did wrong, one minute we were talking, perhaps a bit emotionally but we were steadying each other as we went and then suddenly his expression changed and he barely even tried to excuse it, bolting out of the room as soon as he was able to and locking himself in the bathroom.

He was crying. A weight of unease is wedging itself into the pit of my chest at the moment because I’m really not sure why it happened and I’m worried it has something to do with me. I feel simultaneously upset, guilty and sad for him, I mostly just want to hold him and ask him what’s going on. Whatever it is couldn’t have come out of nowhere and there’s an anxious, heavy part of my mind that’s insisting it’s because of whatever I’d said. I wish he would tell me.

I peek my head around the corner, seeing him huddled into the corner of the couch with my fuzzy blanket tight around his shoulders, pulled up to his chin so that I can just barely see the redness in his watery eyes. He’s curled into himself like he wants to be hidden away, looking far too focused on the screen for what’s happening.

I remember when that blanket was new and I’d had it draped over me at all times, to the point where we were sitting on the sofa together one day and Phil had looked over at me with my pseudo fur coat and bluntly gone _you look like a sad pimp._ The term is the first thing to jump into my head when I see it and I can’t help but wonder if he’s unconsciously chosen it because he feels sad.

He hasn’t noticed me yet, at least I don’t think he has. His arms are folded over his chest with the blanket haphazardly tangled around him. His look is so blank and what he’s doing is so unlike him that I’m forgetting he could probably see me if he looked just a little to the right, I can’t leave him like this.

 

“Phil?” I call, just barely in a whisper. I’m not sure if he can hear my hushed voice when no response comes.

I risk stepping into the room cautiously, not striding over and plopping down next to him like I usually would because I don’t know if he’d want that. I’m almost worried he’s mad at me, though I can’t really think of a reason why. I step in enough to be visible, trying to keep my voice gentle.

“Phil.” I repeat, a little more firmly. This time, he turns around, but not in a surprised manner that suggests he couldn’t hear me before. It’s more in a way that shows he’d attempted to ignore me, hoping I’d leave him alone, but quickly given in and turned his attention to me.

His heavy eyes meet mine and it feels like my mind has gone fairly blank.

I realize I probably should have figured out what I was going to say before I revealed my presence. When I take a step towards him he remains still, as motionless as he’d been before he knew I was here. He stares up at me with wide, terrified eyes, and something tells me talking to him isn’t going to be easy.

“Hey.” I start with a comforting gesture, wandering over and placing my hand on his shoulder. He jumps when I touch him like he wants to jerk his arm away, but he settles for straightening his spine as if he’s been shocked, tensing up. I can see the goosebumps on his arms, indicating an unsettling feeling that he’s been dealing with, whatever that may be. I don’t know how to feel about this being his response to me.

“Sorry.” I blurt, heart sinking rapidly at his reaction that couldn’t be more blatant if he tried. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He shrugs limply and looks down at his knees, not exactly encouraging or discouraging me in any way. He looks like he’s been caught out, as if I’ve accused him of something and discovered him red-handed. I feel useless not knowing what’s going on with him, simultaneously wanting to hug him against me and to leave him alone.

His body language has me more and more worried and I risk reaching out to touch him again, this time settling my hand on his shoulder gently and rubbing slow, calming circles into it with my thumb. It’s says something about him I think that I’ve shoved my dream somewhere in the back on my mind, somehow. All I’m worried about right now is Phil. His muscles are tense but his eyes clear when he realizes what I’m doing, he lets out a deep breath suddenly and raises his gaze to somewhere within my general direction.

“You didn’t.” He mumbles suddenly.

I’m so surprised by his quiet voice that it takes an active effort not to react outwardly to it, dropping my hand and quickly reaching over to the coffee table to grab the remote and turn the sound down slightly so I can hear myself think.

“What?”

“It’s fine.” He says lightly. His expression is fairly calm but I know what I’d heard earlier, he’s trying to pretend like it’s nothing when everything about this moment is so off compared to usual.

Something tells me he probably doesn’t want me to ask him about it, but if nothing else I want to make sure he’s okay.

“It’s not fine.” I point out, stating the obvious. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t do that.” I chide sadly. “You know what I mean.”

He frowns and slumps down a bit helplessly, looking like he wants to be anywhere but here.

“Dan, it really is nothing.” He says far too quickly.

“We both know you’re a terrible liar.” I tease, trying not to make him feel like he’s being interrogated. “Crying in a locked bathroom for over an hour is far from nothing.”

Phil’s gaze drops. He knows I won’t back down. I don’t know what to focus on, the fact that he knows I know now or the comfort that he’s not denying it.

“Oh.You heard?” He asks, looking embarrassed. “Was I really in there for that long?”

I chuckle, poking his arm nonchalantly and lightening the mood a bit. “You know as well as I do these walls are thin as ice.”

I wait a little bit, letting the joke settle in and the lingering sadness to engulf us again, fading our tiny smiles away like a stagnant storm. I can feel the tumult just below the surface, but on the surface itself we’re both acting calm.

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask bluntly, seeing his eyes full of regret and still avoiding mine.

“What?” He asks abruptly, his tone changing to kind so quickly it catches me off guard. “No. You’re fine. I told you. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

It doesn’t really answer my internal questions. Despite what he’s said, I don’t know what else it could be about.

“Well,” I continue, stopping for a second to take his hand and smile. “Let’s talk then.”

“You didn’t do anything.” He repeats, a little more insistently. “I just had a… um, bit of a crisis I guess. I’m fine.”

“That’s supposed to be my thing.” I laugh lightly, finally drawing a satisfying giggle out of Phil. “What was it about?”

He shrugs. “A lot of things I guess.”

I shake my head, sliding my thumb between his own and his index, careful not to scare him off with any sudden movements. I’m feeling so much relief just because he’s letting me touch him now and because I’ve made him laugh that I feel a lot more relaxed in speaking, calmer the longer I can feel his hand in mine.

“Well those things are clearly making you upset, and I hate seeing you upset. Therefore, it would be helpful if you were a bit more specific Philly.”

I expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. There’s something he’s scared to tell me, but what? Why would he hold back?

Have I made things awkward between us? We always said we’d have no secrets, but is that gone now? He said it had nothing to to with me, but my doubts linger on.

“It’s… I really can’t say.” He admits, tensing up again. “Not to you.”

I remove my hand in a reflex. I can’t pretend I don’t feel that response right down to my core.

“Why not?” I push. “You know you can trust me right?”

“Of course.” He quickly assures me. “It’s not about whether I trust you or not, it’s just something I’d rather think about alone. I need to deal with whatever my brain is saying by myself.”

“You’re not alone though.” I remind him.

“I know, Dan.” The reply is too curt and I realize he’s skirting the topic, trying to avoid answering me.

I keep my gaze on him, trying to tell myself that it really isn’t my fault. “I’m not going to judge you, you know.”

“Would you believe if I told you it’s not really even bad at all?” He questions. “Or at least be slightly reassured?

“I’d believe you if you just told me.” I huff, becoming impatient. “I get if you don’t want to discuss it but I had to listen to you sob your guts out and now I think I at least deserve to know why.”

“Maybe I can’t tell you.” He argues.

“What, because you don’t think I’d care if something’s on your mind?”

“Because you’re entitled to everything that happens in my life?” He shoots unexpectedly, meeting my level of aggression swiftly.

I blink, genuinely shocked because it’s not often that I ever hear Phil snap at me. Now it’s become clearer than ever that it has nothing to do with trust, he just doesn't want to tell me.

“Because you’re my best friend and I’m fucking worried about you!” I lash out, regretting it immediately.

Phil goes quiet. Too quiet. His eyes go to me finally but not in a good way, the look on his face is wavering.

I want to take it back instantly. I shouldn't have yelled at him. I shouldn't have even begun to raise my voice. I had no right to be angry because I don't understand what's in his mind right now. I don't know anything. I’m just so frustrated.

“Phil,” I blurt immediately, desperate to take it back. “I’m so-”

Phil yanks his arm away when I try to take his hand again. I look up at his face to see his eyes are wide and his cheeks are flushed, expression startled before it falters. That stings. My palm hangs pathetically between us.

I realize a second too late that he’s backing away from me and try to reach out and pull him back. He moves away though, out if the reach of my hand.

“Phil please, I didn’t mean to.” I repeat. “I’m just worried about you.”

“The tables have turned then.” He mutters, a tear running down his cheek as he turns and runs the opposite direction, back to his room.

“Phil wait!” I call, just before I hear the door to his room slam, sending an earthquake-like ripple throughout the flat, and most likely a few neighbouring flats as well. He locks the door for the second time today.

My heart drops. I jump up from the sofa and nearly trip over the discarded blanket, following right after him.

I stride over to his door to find it firmly shut, mine next to it still slightly ajar where I’d left it after the dream. Hurt and confusion are coursing through me and I place my palm on the painted wood, heart beating slightly too fast in my chest. How did we go from speaking softly in his bed to here?

“What did I do?!” I cry, both tense and relieved that I don’t hear sobs this time.

I hear a shift and realize he must have turned at my voice, his words tight.

“Nothing.” I hear back, muffled through the layer between us. “I told you. I just need to sort things out for a bit by myself. Leave me alone.”

“You’re worried about me.” I blurt, deducing that this is the most likely answer given the circumstances. “Phil, that’s okay. You’re allowed to do that you know.”

“You really shouldn’t worry about _me_.” He says back evenly. “I’m sorry. You’re way too good to me and I’m making no sense.”

Despite the confusion my heart skips a bit at that undeniably sweet confession, easing my nerves a little.

“I’m not mad at you.” I assure him, voice gentle. “You just aren’t making much sense.”

“I meant it when I said it’s not your fault.” He says honestly. “I’m sorry for being weird.”

“Stop saying sorry.” I chide. “Say it again and I’ll come in and tickle you, you know that. I’ll bust right through that lock.”

“Shut up.” He groans, though I can hear the smile slowly easing back into his voice.

I raise my hands threateningly even though he can’t see them, pretending I’m aiming to do just that. “Don’t doubt me, Lester.”

There’s a bout of silence and then I hear Phil shuffling forward. Before I can move back the door swings open, sending me near-toppling into him.

I lean forward the second I can see him, hugging him tight as if he's just returned from war. I don't know what's going on but it feels good to have him in my arms even if he doesn't realize he needs it. As long as I hold him tightly nothing can hurt him, or so it feels. So I do just that, squeezing as hard as I can to keep his fears safely inside.

“Hugs” I whisper in an innocent voice, rubbing his back. He barely lets out a laugh, but I know it's enough. “I come upon your bedroom only bearing hugs.”

He accepts the hold without struggle, sinking into it and letting the hum of the heater fills the silence, clicking in and letting a whoosh of warm air wash over our chilly forms. We pull away just to move into his room a little bit, sliding down to sit on the carpet right next to the door.

“Was it because of my dreams?” I ask quietly, almost afraid I’m going to work him up again. “Is that why you’re worried, because of my dreams?”

He ducks his head and his cheeks darken, avoiding my eyes.

“I…”

All of a sudden, I really want to take his hand. The feeling from earlier is back and I makes a funny feeling go through me in anticipation. I’ve never really done well with self-control.

Before I can stop or think twice I reach out and do just that, taking his right in my left. He jumps at first and my breath catches but then his fingers relax. It turns out to be the right motion, he looks up and half-smiles at me, cheeks pink. It makes something squirm in my stomach, the expression is so pleasantly surprised and unguarded.

He squeezes my hand, apparently as surprised by this motion as I am.

“A little.” He admits softly. “You’re going to think this is so stupid but I was just listening to you talk about the things you’re going through and how it’s only going to get worse. You already go through so much and I just feel so useless sometimes because I literally do nothing to help, so this morning when you were talking about what going to happen it just sort of fell down again, and it kind of hit me out of nowhere just how much you meant to me.”

It feels like I’ve been hit by a ton of bricks because with context it makes so much more sense, my mind not quite coordinated with my mouth.

I blink at him dazedly. “So… you just-”

“Started crying, yeah.” He sighs. “I didn’t want you to see that.”

Something tells me it’s more than just my dreams he worried about, but I don’t push him any further. I’m just glad he’s talking to me.

“But like I said, it’s not your fault!” He adds on quickly. “It’s not bad either, I just didn’t know how to say that, and you probably think I’m crazy now.”

“I have an actual curse.” I remind him with a shrug. “No need to bust out the word crazy for anyone other than me.”

“Maybe we’re both crazy.” He suggests.

I grin at him, feeling a kind of simmering, glowy bit of affection for him.

“That could very well be.”

He rolls his eyes and sits back slightly against the wall, making me realize only now that we’re literally sitting side by side to each other in socked feet and pajamas on the floor. It makes me think that maybe all important conversations should occur on the floor, it’s just such an honest, comfortable space.

“Well then.” He quips, nudging me with his shoulder.

“Well, what?” I reply.

“Do you want a milkshake right now? Because I kind of want a milkshake.”

I burst out laughing, just a bit in awe about the way his mind works. Only he could jump from serious to fond to food so quickly. Only Phil Lester.

“What?! Don’t you want to have real food first?” I giggle. “How is that in any way healthy?”

He raises his eyebrows, daring me to question his idea.

“How are _we_ in any way healthy?” He shoots back. “Sugar is my coping mechanism.”

“You’re so bizarre.” I sigh, still in disbelief. “Where do you plan to get one at this hour?” I look to the window and see only darkness.

“Shakeaway.” He says easily.

I don’t even question how he managed to think of that so fast. As if we didn’t already go there enough, now the milkshake place is going to become a breakfast staple for us too, apparently.

“You sound like you’ve planned this.” I tease, lifting up a finger and poking him in the side where he’s most ticklish. “This was your plot all along.”

He squeals, slapping my hand away and pushing my shoulder.

“Yes, I am truly diabolical.” He agrees.

“You owe me a large for all of this morning’s emotional upheaval.” I tell him jokingly. “Next time you have a profound conclusion let’s just skip straight to the milkshake part.”

He blushes for the third time this morning, looking away. At first I’m worried I’ve said something wrong but he just looks a bit flustered, a fair reaction to have I guess since I’m embarrassing him.

“Oh, it was a very important conclusion, I can assure you.” He replies lightly. “But I’ll buy you a large if you let me sit in the outside seating area this time.”

“Fine.” I agree, rolling my eyes. “It’s worth freezing my ass off if I freeze it for you. I hope you know I’m friend of the year.”

“You’d freeze your ass for me huh?” He jokes, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Now it’s my turn to turn away and blush.

“Idiot.” I lay a hand over my heart. “Yes, I’d freeze it just for you.”

“Well _._ ” He chuckles. “Go on.”

We stare at each other silently until he smirks again, waiting for the action he knows I won’t actually do but still enjoying the teasing.

“Put a jacket on, idiot.” I reply easily. “I’m too lazy to even change out of my pajamas.”

He winks at me cheekily but because it’s Phil it looks more like an exaggerated blink, making me snort far more than an actual wink would have because it’s just so damn endearing.

I’m about to ask him if he literally expects me to freeze my ass when he shrugs, gazing up at the window from his vantage point like he can deduce the weather by glance.

“Which jacket do you reckon?” He asks by way of answering. “Ring-wraith or space coat? Do I want to be edgy or exciting?”

I roll my eyes and move to stand up, holding out my hand to help pull him up. His hand grips mine for the briefest moments and even with my help he still stumbles trying to stand, grabbing the wardrobe for support. Eternal clumsiness is just one of the many things I’ve come to associate with Phil, and not in a bad way.

I open his closet door with my free hand, observing the choices and going for the warmer-looking one, his black one with the fur-lined hood. Edgy is probably the last word I’d ever use to describe Phil with but I reach for it anyway, feeling that vibe more so than the other one.

“Ring-wraith.” I concede. “I’ll wear my dark coat too. Coordination.”

~~~

The city is quiet and a bit cold at this hour of the morning, the pavement still mostly clear of pedestrians and streetlamps glowing faintly. I can see mine and Phil’s puffs of breath curling into the air and I can feel the chill on the tip of my nose but it’s not cold enough to actually be snowing, something I can tell Phil had been hoping for by the way he looks around.

“Phil, you don’t want snow.” I say knowingly. “You’re literally about to go and consume the artery-threatening version of the exact same substance and for some ungodly reason you want to do so outside. You’re basically asking for hypothermia.”

“I like to live life on the edge.” He reasons.

I let out the snort I'd been unable to contain, shaking my head fondly and grinning like an idiot. We fall into silence, walking down the pavement side by side close enough to be holding hands.

Wait. Why would I want to hold his hand?

It’s still early. My brain hasn’t fully woken up and I feel warm and fuzzy from our previous conversation, surprising really considering how it started. His hand is still close enough to brush mine if I step too far to the right, it’s not like the thought is completely unwarranted.

I ignore the thought, keeping the smile on my face and my hand at my side. When we're in silence we can feel the tension from just several minutes ago.

“I don’t consider milkshakes to be the same as snow.” Phil replies. “Frankly, I’m offended that you’d even say something like that.”

“Oh, get over it.” I nudge his arm with my elbow.

Our shoulders brush and we exchange shy glances. Maybe things are a bit sensitive between us but the appreciation is here. I don't have emotional moments like this often, and I'm not about to break down in tears, but I do feel an overwhelming amount of gratefulness for him.

I mean to tell him sorry, but nothing but air comes out. I hadn't realized how breathless I actually am.

It doesn't help that after the exchange, it's Phil that exhales nervously before curling his fingers and just barely taking mine.

At first it doesn’t even register. I feel the brush of fingers, it could easily be an accident. But then his pinky hooks through mine, and his hand stays.

It takes a couple seconds to realize it’s happening. I’m not imagining this just because it was what I wanted a couple minutes ago. I haven’t done anything at all. I have to kick myself internally to shift my hand and hold back, realizing I’m just hanging there stupidly.

It was _Phil_ who took _my_ hand.

I wait for him to say something, an indication that this is out of the ordinary, but he doesn’t.

I tense, my eyes going directly to our lazily intertwined fingers and my lungs deflating as I breathe a sigh of relief. His eyes flicker to mine briefly but he must not find any objection because the motion is becoming quite casual, and far more practical in this cold weather because my chilly fingers feel much more warm.

I don't know what this is, but we both wanted it. He doesn’t seem worried about it, we hardly even need to mention it. There’s something really nice about that.

In that brief moment of peace, I've forgotten everything and all I want to remember for the rest of my life is how amazing his hand feels in mine. Protecting my skin from the cold like a warm blanket.

Then something flies right past my ear, the wind piercing the air. A split second later, I hear a crash.

I immediately squeeze Phil’s hand and whip my head around, seeing that the object is a now shattered bottle of some alcoholic drink. When I turn back to find the source, a not-so-sober middle aged man is on the other side of the road, glaring at us.

“Queers!” He shouts before stumbling off. In the weak morning light. I hadn’t even realized anyone else was around, not until now when the air is suddenly silent again and broken glass lays inches away from Phil’s feet.

I feel my mouth go dry, Phil going entirely tense. If we had been standing slightly to the left, we could have been hit with the bottle. I'm suddenly terrified and confused.

I see the man still glaring at us off in the distance, anger boiling up in my stomach when I think about how Phil could have been easily injured, never mind the obnoxious acquisitions he made.

“Hey, mind your own fucking business!” I scream after him. The man either doesn’t hear or just ignores my shout entirely, stalking off down a side street.

I move to follow him. He doesn’t even know us and he’s ruined the moment with obvious hatred and accusation, apparently not content enough with the fact that he’s ruined his own life.

“Dan. Dan.” Phil mumbles. “Don’t.” he tries to pull me in the opposite direction but something about the idea of holding his hand again gets to me. I yank my arm away, the same way he did to me earlier.

I have to clench my fists to make my racing mind calm down enough to think clearly, not willing to let myself blow up in front of my best friend when the stress wouldn’t even be worth it. My heart is pounding and I don’t even know why it’s so important but it is, my heartbeat audible in my ears in the way it hardly ever gets. I can’t even see the guy now but it’s clear that he’s done something. His words and the action burn in my mind.

“What the hell?” I snap. “He could have hit you! Some people are just-”

I look at Phil's expression, only to see his face has gone crestfallen. His hand slips away and he stares blankly at the shards, eyes glossy.

I trail off, stopped in place. I’m still angry but now my heart is sinking, seeing how drastically the words have affected him. Whereas I’m angry he actually looks genuinely upset, catching me completely off guard.

“Fuck that guy.” I huff, reaching out and gripping Phil’s arm this time. “Come on, Phil.”

His arm is stiff, he looks lost in thought. He doesn’t answer me, not even really reacting to my pull.

“Phil?” I ask confusedly.

He finally starts walking again but there’s a definite gap of space between us now, the peacefulness of the morning ruined by some drunken asshole. I want to ask him about it because he’s shoved his hands into his pockets and I don’t understand why he’s so upset about it, as rude as it is it’s not like the words of a stranger should really matter.

How do I feel about it? I’ve just been shouted at for doing nothing more than holding my best friend's hand in public. The first thought that jumps to mind is that I don’t really care, I can do what I want, but then beneath that it’s almost like I feel- what? Uneasy?

I feel odd, and I’m not even sure if it’s because of what’s in my own head or if it’s Phil’s reaction. It’s strange that the accusation itself feels like more than the physical assault did.

The sun starts to rise a little higher and ironically I start to see soft, sparse snowflakes beginning to drift down around us, shining and sparkling in the golden sunlight. I don’t mention it to Phil though even though my mind has immediately jumped to our earlier conversation, not really sure what to say as we get closer to the street that’ll take us to Shakeaway.

Why does it matter what some stranger thought about us?

I wish Phil would walk closer to me, maybe we’ve had bad luck this morning but it’s not a crime to be side by side. It’s probably unfair but it feels like he doesn’t want to be seen with me now.

“Damn, some people are assholes.” I say eventually, hoping to just brush over it and move on. I wish we could go back to the way we’d been conversing before.

He blinks distractedly and I realize he’d been fixated on the light rising over the rooftops of the buildings ahead, lost in thought. A bus goes trundling by and I start to feel like I’m in London again, even the noise trying to remind me moments of peace will not be coming to me easily as usual.

“Hm?” He answers faintly. “Yeah. I guess.”

The tone confuses me. I wish at this moment I could see into his mind, he’s closing back up again like he did in the morning.

“You’re okay, right?” I ask worriedly. “He didn’t hit you, did he?”

“No.”

He glances around and buries his hands deeper, a nervous habit I usually see reserved for when he’s in a crowded room.

“Dan.” He says suddenly, looking anywhere but at me. “Do you-?”

I feel a jump in my chest, though I’m not sure why. I wait for him to finish his sentence but he doesn’t.

“Do I what?” I ask.

He shakes his head, looking lost. “I don’t know. Never mind.”

“Phil, what?” I exclaim, slowing my walk slightly and looking right at him. “Say something.”

I hadn’t even thought about it, but that man must have taken one look at Phil and I and seen… something. Is that why I feel strange? Most of the unease I’m feeling is from the fact that Phil isn’t responding to me but I wonder if what the man said is a bigger deal to him than what he’s letting on. I’ve never really pegged Phil for that kind of person but I’d hate to imagine the thought of that bothering him.

“You’re right, he was an asshole.” He dismisses. “He doesn’t actually know us at all.”

I still don’t believe that’s all he’s feeling but I decide not to push him for now, he’s back to looking away from me and heading forward with more purpose than is probably necessary. It’s not fair, really. It’s like my dreams every night. Just when I start to enjoy things and I’m feeling fairly happy again, reality always seems to find a way in.

I’m finding that I care less and less about the man, though. It’s Phil’s reaction that matters. I want to assure him about what happened just before but the problem is we didn’t even mention it to begin with. I don’t know why it should be weird because at the heart of it, all we did was hold hands. There was nothing more or less than that, yet there’s some weird roadblock in my mind when I imagine talking to him about it.

But he’s my best friend.

Just this morning, he’s admitted to me that he’d cried because my dream had reminded him of how much I meant to him. He’d hesitated, sure, but now that I’m here I’m starting to understand that. Sentiment is damn hard and even though there’s nothing wrong with it it feels extremely vulnerable when I’m sharing it with him.

But who cares, really? Things aren’t strange when they're with Phil. I dream about Phil. If he’s such an important person to me then maybe I should start treating him like it.

I try to think of something to say, to smooth things over. One terrible person isn't worth ruining our whole day over. He needs to know I don't think what we did was wrong, if nothing else the moment isn't his fault.

“I liked holding your hand.” I say bluntly, catching him by surprise.

His eyes widen. I only realize how strange that is a thing to say after I've said it, an unexpected burst of nervousness shooting through me.

“You- what?” He stutters, the shock in his voice evident. His words are as static as the chills on my face, flustered as it is. He looks like I’ve caught him in something and it makes me wonder something else entirely, almost out of nowhere.

“N-nothing.” I redirect quickly. “It's just not something I want to regret.”

Which is true. It’s not why I’d said it though, at least not entirely. It’s more for him because it feels like he thinks he’s made a mistake.

“I don't regret it.” He assures me, placing a hand on my sleeve loosely, hesitant in waiting for how I might react. I just stand there, stunned.

He lifts his chin towards the building next to us, where Shakeaway is, the both of us slowing our walk. The timing is all too convenient for the number of questions that are suddenly leaping to my mind, but then I look over at him and see his eyes have lit up at the prospect of food, his his hand now gripping more firmly to my arm as he tugs excitedly and then drops the hold to push open the door. I follow after him,

We don't touch anymore after that, but I've managed to feel as calm as I did before this all happened.

When we walk inside a rush of warm air has us instantly taking our coats off and throwing them over our shoulders.

The morning sun has the place lit up with orange light and there’s some cheery 90s song playing over the speaker. Phil’s already moved to look at the menu and I’m shouldering my jacket as I move to follow him, scanning the options and deciding as I glance over at the topping station to our right that I’m not feeling particularly spectacular today.

We place our orders and I don’t think Phil’s really paying attention until we both have our cups, piled with two scoops each and we’re walking over to get our toppings that he grins at me for no conceivable reason, making me raise my eyebrows.

“What?” I protest, confused by his amusement.

“Vanilla?” He supplies. “Seriously? They had rocky road and salted caramel options and you go for the most boring flavour available?”

I find it in me to be offended, raising my eyebrows at his accusation. I don’t know why, but it feels like I’ve disappointed my father or something.

“Excuse you!” I defend, shoving past him to the M&M dispenser, letting the candies drop more dramatically than necessary onto my scoop. “Say that again to my face.”

He turns on his heel and steps forward a little so that I falter at the next dispenser, Phil standing between me and it and tilting his head up at me so that we’re eye level. I mean to glare at him in sarcasm but the glare gets lost somewhere when he comes to a stop and I see his face from only inches away, breath ghosting my face.

He looks at me and I don’t know why, but the intensity of the stare distracts me. I have to force myself not to blink. I forget what we’re talking about, what I’m thinking, everything slows to a halt and all I can see is his eyes, and how blue they look.

I can see his cheeks, still a bit pink from the cold. My and twitches and I feel the oddest urge to reach out and touch them, to smooth over the skin and feel the coolness there.

He blinks first, and I realize I’d been gaping.

“Boring.” He repeats.

Then he’s stepped back and it feels like the world goes back into focus, a breath I didn’t realize I was holding whooshing out at once.

The yoghurt. We were talking about the yoghurt.

It feels like I’ve snapped out of a daze. He looks pleased when it takes me a second to collect my thoughts, probably thinking I’m struggling for a comeback.

Which I’m not, by the way. I hold up my cup like evidence, collecting my thoughts in a jumble and spewing them out,

“Vanilla frozen yoghurt is multipurpose.” I propose, like a scientist explaining their study. “It acts as a vessel for toppings, which can be arranged in any combination or capacity that I desire and still tastes good.”

To demonstrate this I gesture to all the options available, guiding his eyes like he couldn’t have deducted as much just by looking.

“Dare you to put sour gummy worms on your rocky road.” I quip. I grab a small handful and plop them into my container, smirking at him teasingly and winking just because I know he can’t.

Phil, like the endlessly endearing idiot that he is snorts and then giggles like I’ve just delighted him, rolling his eyes and stealing a green and blue worm off the top of my stack before I can react.

He pops the candy in his mouth. “No need.” He replies. “I’ll just take yours, since you’re insane enough to eat this for breakfast.”

Oh, right. This is our breakfast food. I try to push that thought out of my head and opt to jab my spoon into his shake, stealing a chocolaty piece in revenge.

“Vanilla shakes  also contain actual yoghurt, unlike your ice cream monstrosity.”

“Okay, generic boy.” Phil replies, waving me off. “Let’s go find our seats, I think I can feel my arteries beginning to give out from this nutrition conversation alone.”

We make it to the outdoor seating area in much higher spirits than when we’d walked in, the smile on my face genuine and the look in his eyes warm. He shoves me just before I step out of the door and it leads to me releasing a somewhat embarrassing shriek, turning some heads in confusion.

I don’t care, though. I’m happy.

We pick a table near the street, the small fence lined with Christmas lights casting a nice glow over us while we sit on opposite ends on slightly chilly chairs. We settle into a kind of comfortable silence and Phil takes to people-watching, observing each of the few customers with an avid interest that he always seems to have with new things. In turn, I take to watching him.

I’m a little groggy, my early waking only catching up with me now. My head is slumping over where it’s propped up by my elbow on the table, lazily focused on the blue of Phil’s eyes. I hadn’t really realized I was tired with all that’s gone on in this morning alone. My nightmare from before feels like ages away.

Minutes pass, and I notice when Phil stops looking at the people. I go to speak to him before realizing he looks thoughtful, stirring his rocky road shake without actually eating.

He looks distraught still and I wonder if he's still thinking about the man. He’s barely moving, just leaning his head down a bit every so often to sip from his blue straw, a bright colour that clashes easily with his distracted eyes, drawing them even closer to my attention. I’m not sure if he knows it, but he couldn’t be more obvious about his sudden shift in mood. I don’t blame him, but I want to talk to him.

“Phil, are you okay?” I ask, staring softly at him. I want to make sure he knows I can see his discomfort clearly, hopefully in a comforting way too.

He looks at me and I try not to feel so dismayed when he’d been so smiley and giggly just before. He’s trying, he’s really trying, but it’s clear that the alleyway is still on his mind.

“Yes.” He sighs, eyes flickering away for a split second, a dead giveaway he’s lying.

I lean forward the way he’d done in the shop, hoping to obtain the same attention he’d gotten from me.

“Honestly?” I ask, hoping he’ll be more truthful if he realizes I’m not judging him.

He nods.

“Honestly.”

I go to reach for his hand, but draw back instantly, not wanting to make any sudden movements. I think he sees it though, it’s something in the twitch of his face. If I didn’t know him so well I might not have even noticed it.

“Phil,” I plead more firmly. “Look at me.”

He pauses his reaction this time to think, shifting uncomfortably.

“I- I don't know.” he finally admits, closing his eyes briefly.

“What’s on your mind?”

That’s all I want to know really, because I honestly have no idea at this point and even a best guess would be a step in the right direction. If I could have any insight into his thoughts I would definitely be able to understand him better, and help him not feel so alone in whatever this is.

“I know you told me not to be ashamed but, I still am?” He says eventually, without much leadup. “I don't know, I'm strange.”

“About what? The drunk guy?”

He shrugs, but I know I’m right.

Why does he still feel shame over a random comment? Granted, it was a harsh experience after a difficult morning, but I thought he’d be fine once we got our milkshakes. What is it about that man that still has him so upset?

I have a suspicion, one I've had for a while, but I didn't want to have to bring it up. I never wanted to put Phil in a position like that, but I can see his discomfort and I need to know now. I can’t sit here and wait for answers when I can simply ask calmly.

I don’t know if he sees it coming or not. I’m not sure what his thoughts are. I don’t know if I should ask at all but I’m hoping if I keep my voice level enough it won’t sound like an interrogation, but a gentle increase in curiosity.

“Phil?” I hesitate, placing my hand over his. “Are you gay?”

His eyes widen and he goes entirely still, tension in his face and his hand freezing under mine. It’s not just the words, it’s not just the touch. It’s the words and the touch, the moment in which the words and touch happened. I can see it, he’s afraid.

I don’t know what he’s thinking, or what I’m even feeling. All I know is that judging by his reaction, I’m not far from the truth. I can see him shaking and I feel a twang of guilt in my throat. My heart has begun to pound and I’m not even sure why- if it’s because I’m right, or because of what that means to me.

Then suddenly- there’s pain. As if out of nowhere there’s a feeling like a thousand needles that strikes the rear of my head, slowly spreading throughout my scalp and sending my thumbs to my temples. Then, like a lightning bolt, it takes the rest of my body and I gasp in agony.

I fall, or at least I think I do. There’s lights and shadows bursting across my vision and I feel dizziness so abruptly I have to shut my eyes, something colliding hard with my knee.

“Dan?” I hear. I try to look up at Phil, but I can't see him anymore. The seat across from mine is empty. Either he’s already made his way to my side, or whatever I’m seeing has erased him from my sight entirely.

“Phil?” I breathe. “Phil!”

My vision finally clears enough to look around but I can’t see him. I can’t see anyone I realize, my heart dropping in my chest when I open my eyes to the world around me.

I feel hands on my back but I can't see where they're coming from, the sides of my vision dark. I can't hear what Phil telling when my attention fails to focus and all of the noises surrounding begin to melt together and all I hear is dissonant ringing. I close my eyes to avoid the sudden intensity of the light, realizing what this is.

But how?

The feeling of fiery crawling still remains, the _sound_ of crawling is even worse, right next to my ears, the equivalent of a thousand beetles fills my ear drums, pounding against them violently, Red is  flustering across my skin, which suddenly feels itchy.

When I open my eyes, I'm almost positive this is a dream. But it isn't, I’m not asleep. It's not a dream, it's a hallucination.

The walls are glowing a neon lime colour when before all they were was the dark shade of grass on a dry wall. The ground beneath me warps and bends, if I focus I can see shards of reality, the real world- but the dream has taken it over. Shadows start to emerge from the wall as its shape molds into formless blobs and I let out a scream.

Some deep, primal instinct in me immediately tried to look around, to locate other people. I don’t know if I need them to help me or if I want to save them, I can hear distorted voices shouting and screaming and they echo and pulse so painfully around me that I have to press my hands over my ears to shield myself from the reverberating sound.

Shadowy figures dart past me in black mist and screeches follow in a distant echo. They increase rapidly, sending me stumbling away from the table and to the middle of the room. I feel every pair of eyes on me like they're being burned into my skin, though each source blurry. I can make out human figures now but they’re smudged, faceless. They try to move towards me but I lurch away, terrified by the blurred limbs clawing at me.

My vision is too distorted and I can't do anything besides fall to the ground and bury my head in my arms, trying to block it all out. The sounds and sensations are pressing in on me and I can feel the chill that comes with dreaming, that feeling of _cold_.

But it can’t be.

This can’t be real, I know it can’t be, but that doesn’t stop the pain from sadistically twisting my mind and sending these terrifying thoughts rushing through my head. The images thread a quilt of fear over my senses and submerge my memory of anything really.

I roll over on the floor, my arm making contact with the cold tile and sending shivers down my back like an electric shock. I’m sensitive to any kind of change when they’re exaggerated like this, the collision rockets up my arm and I suddenly feel something gripping my arm, my head jerking up to see a clawed, shadowy arm.

I try to yank away but it holds tightly. Colours and darkness burst around me like a kaleidoscope and I gasp when fear constricts my chest, unable to understand how the dreamworld has carpeted over my reality.

 _Dreams are meant for night._ My mind screams at me. _Dreams are meant for night._

The Shakeaway is gone, slowly vanishing in favour of a nightmarish shadow world. The longer I look at the scene the less real it begins to look, and I realize I need to snap awake because there’s a horrible feeling in my chest like if I stay too long I’ll be trapped in here. The windows of the building look like fire and the brick is melting, sinking into the ground as if it were molten lava.

 _Remember reality. Remember reality._ I think to myself. If I focus I can win this over, right. I can’t let whatever this is have the best of me. 

What happens if I don’t escape?

I don’t even let myself think of that. I think of Phil, of snowflakes. I think of broken bottles just because it makes me angry and I think of the door of the flat slamming because of my stupid mistake. I stare at the shifting scenes and block out the amplified voices and strain to focus, shutting my eyes and blocking everything, all of it out. I shut my eyes. I let my mind blank. I feel my own heart, beating way too fast.

When I open them, I can see people again, but they aren’t normal. No, after blinking the blurs away I see that their eyes are on me, but they’re hollow, bleeding dark red. I scream and crawl backwards, but I’m backed up against a wall now. The people surround me, remaining entirely still. They seem to teleport around the room as they get closer.

I spot Phil, finally. He’s back by our table, turned away from me. I call out to him, but he doesn’t respond. He just turns, and just like everyone else, his eyes are gone and his head is tilted slightly, the gaze of nonexistent pupils like fire against my skin. As if each and every stare has the power of a thousand suns, invisible eyes radiate off of my skin, leaving behind burns where each gaze lies.

Phil is in front of me now, leaning down so is distorted face is inches from mine, a sickening grin plastered on his pale lips.

“No!” I scream as he reaches for me, grabbing my wrist. I struggle but he’s too strong. I try to pull away but his hand finds mine, weaving through my fingers even as I try to rip my hand away. He pushes them through firmly, his fingers closing tightly-

Then everything goes silent.

Cold air blasts me suddenly and I feel myself collapse, though I don’t see it. I tremble in fear, no longer feeling Phil’s hand, but feeling the aftershock of the burns and rashes on my body. When I open my eyes, Phil is there, back to normal. Everything is back to normal.

His face hovers above me, making me realize I must have fallen down. His expression is ashen, he meets my eyes like he’s not sure I’m seeing him.

“Ph-Phil?” I manage, tears streaming down my cheeks.

He pulls me against his chest and runs his hands over my arms, securing me in a hold that sends a rush of relief and warmth across my body and slightly masking the pain. That’s when I start sobbing.

“I-I, I’m s-sorry.” I stutter through each sob, gasping for a suitable amount of air to do so. I can barely breathe and my mind is blank.

He doesn’t say a word. He’s too stunned to, I’d imagine. He just lifts me into his arms and stands, holding me in a way that closes me off from the world, not wanting whatever triggered my hallucination to do it again.

I don’t see, but I hear everything everyone says.

“Sir, is he okay?”

Concerned voices.

“Looks like someone should visit the hospital.”

Uncomfortable voices.

“That boy belongs in the psych ward.”

Judging voices. Too many voices.

Just like when I was younger, like it’s been my entire life, except now it’s not just my parents or family members. I’ve just had a daydream in broad daylight, a day-mare more like. And everyone has seen, _everyone._

I try to block them out as I feel Phil taking me away from it all, taking me home. We stand up and we don’t grab our shakes, my legs are shaking but Phil wraps an arm around my shoulder, guiding me without me needing to look up, to see the faces attached to the voices that are concerned and judging and uncomfortable.

I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face deeper into his coat, the fur of his hood tickling my nose. It has me nuzzling away my tears, letting them vanish into the warmth of it. I don’t care about we look like, I don’t care who will and won’t see. All I care about is Phil, and luckily, that’s exactly who I get to hold onto in this exact moment.

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr @lemonheadlester & @cozydnp


	6. sorry for now

 

“I’m sorry.”

“Dan, don’t worry about it. I’ve already told you-”

The door to our flat clicks open as Phil turns the knob and I push past him, not even looking back as I stumble into the lounge and pick up the fuzzy blanket Phil had been wrapped in just earlier. The curtains are shut so it’s dark as I pull the blanket around my shoulders and flop into the sofa corner, angry because I can feel my hands trembling and there’s a sick feeling in my stomach that I don’t know how to combat.

“Dan.” I hear Phil’s footsteps as he follows in behind me, his motions making swishy noises because he hasn’t even bothered to remove his coat yet.

There’s an ache forming between my eyes and I will him not to come closer but of course he does, I’ve been hiding in his neck the whole walk back and though the walk to Shakeaway had been slow and leisurely, the return journey was a blur to me and the last thing on my mind was where my feet were carrying me.

His fingers are hesitant as they reach for me. I can only see them out of the corner of my eye and I’d pull away if I wasn’t pressed into the corner with nowhere to go. I settle for pulling the blanket up over my face, grateful for the darkness to sink into.

His hand doesn’t settle on my shoulder like I’m expecting, it settles tentatively on the back of my head, his fingers slowly dragging through my hair in a motion that is entirely meant to calm. I lift my head just enough to let him, not really wanting to shut him out at all but feeling this inexplicable need to escape my mind.

“Just take a deep breath.” Phil says gently, timing the words to the drag of his fingers against my scalp. “Do you want me to bring you a coffee?”

I bite my lip and shift slightly, uncomfortable.

“Did you hear what they said?” I snap. “I saw your face when I came to. If I scared you than everyone in that shop sure as hell thinks I’m crazy now.”

His eyes widen and he shakes his head quickly, expression sober.

“Who cares what they think? It's not like you'll ever see them again.”

I sigh, giving in to the pressure in my head and leaning against him, desperately wanting the ache to go away.

“It’s the same fucking thing I heard as a kid. I don’t need another reminder.” My hands are still shaking and I squeeze them into fists until the knuckles start to turn white, seeing Phil frown. “You heard the guy who said I deserve to go to a psych ward. There’s something wrong with me.”

“Don’t say that.” He scolds harshly. “They know nothing about the curse so of course they think that.” 

“But I can't live like this!” 

“Hey.” He breathes. He sits down right next to me and the cushions sink a little under our combined weight, his knees brushing mine. I relent and reach out a limp arm to wind behind his neck, not caring that I’m essentially using him like a security blanket right now.

“You couldn’t help it.” He argues. “It was a dream, wasn’t it?”

“I'm not even sure what the hell that was.” I admit, shaking my throbbing head. “That’s never happened before.” 

“I didn’t even realize it was happening at first.” He admits, still running his fingers assuredly back and forth. “You had this really blank expression on your face and I figured you were just sleepy but then you just… fell.”

I shake my head, really not wanting to think about it.

“I’m just never going to sleep again.” I spit, pulling the blanket more tightly around me again. “I can’t do this.”

There’s a rising burn in the back of my throat, a kind of frustration. I don’t know what to do.

“Dan… no. You need to sleep. It’s okay.” He assures me, pulling me into his chest. He twists a hand slowly into my hair and scratches my head in such a calming way I forget I had even been in pain just a second ago. “Don't worry, you can do this.”

“You probably wish you never met me.” I croak, imagine how mortifying it must be for Phil to be seen with me. 

_ Control your crazy friend,  _ someone had yelled at him as we’d left. It’s not just me that’s involved in this, my best friend has suffered enough. He probably wishes he didn’t have me around, making things so confusing and scary all the time. Everything that happens to me, it’s all in my head. He can’t even see it.

“Stop.” He sighs. “Dan, I don’t. I swear.”

“I don’t really care what the other people think, okay?” I blurt, frustrated with the whole situation.

He frowns, confused. “What do you mean?”

“You.”

My eyes are burning and my heart is beating too fast with anxiety and so I shut my mouth, not really considering that Phil might not know what I mean without context.

I hadn’t even realized it was true until now that I’ve said it. I feel a jolt in my chest and it all hits me with stunning clarity- why I’m so upset.

There’s a small silence and I raise my gaze only to be met with Phil’s, his expression flickering with too many emotions to be discernible. I can’t tell what he’s thinking and he’s clearly caught by me, we’re looking at each other in the exact same way.

Finally, he blinks. “What?”

“I-” for whatever reason, repeating it a second time isn’t nearly as easy or impulsive. I shrug awkwardly in the hopes of sounding more casual than I feel, his gaze feels too intense right now.

“You’re worried I’m judging you?” He questions, apparently not as attuned to me as usual.

“ _ No _ .” I huff, probably more aggressively than necessary. I don’t even know why I’m so frustrated. “I care more about you. More than me.”

It makes sense. It’s something about seeing the real world distort in front of me, having Phil vanish right before my eyes without his even knowing. Maybe it was all in my head this time, but what if one day it isn’t?

“But you're worried..?” He repeats, as more of a statement than a question. He knows me too well.” 

I close my eyes. “...maybe.” 

Phil turns his lips in a sad smile. 

“I don't know why, I mean, I'm just stupid. I-” I'm cut off by Phil pulling my legs over his lap and hugging me closer, swaying forward a bit as if I were a baby he was trying to lull to sleep. 

“Still worried?” He quips, running his fingers through my hair. 

I shrug, my shoulders tensing as my right arm pushes against Phil, causing him to loosen his grip enough to allow me the movement. In all honesty the hold helps, but it doesn’t dismiss the fears at all.

“My dreams are happening in the day too.” I remind him, still not sure what to think about it. “Everything was right there in front of me. I know you put up with me now but what if one day you don’t? I don’t want you to get hurt because they’re not-”

“-Confined to the night.” He finishes. “Oh.”

“Of course I'm worried.” I conclude. “I just don't know why I'm so concerned about how it's affecting you when you've repeatedly told me it doesn't matter.” 

“You have every right to be worried.” He tells me. “You’re going through so much.” 

“I guess…” I continue on my current tangent, ignoring his statement entirely. “I guess I'm scared of what could happen to you.”

“What do you mean?” He rubs my arm by the motion is absent, his eyes fixed on me now.

My voice is choked as I hold back a new wave of tears. “I don't want to end up hurting you.” 

He doesn’t object when I open my arms and sink into our third hug of the day, guilty feelings riddling my chest.

“If I can dream like that then I'm in a situation where I'm not paralyzed like I would be normally. The truth is, I could actually hurt you now.”  

He tries not to react to my words but I see his expression flicker. 

“How?” He glances around like he’s expecting a monster to emerge from the walls or something, then catches himself and straightens up guiltily.

“My dreams can literally make me see anything.”  I point out. “I could try to defend myself again whatever hallucinations I have. I-I know you're not going to leave but god if something were to happen to you I-” 

Phil shushes me instantly when my tears start to form, leaning down so that our faces are level and he's staring into my eyes, his  appearance glazed in my blurry vision. 

I'm not sure what he's thinking, but my breath falls short when his fingers brush under my chin.  He pulls me closer and his head finds my shoulder, blocking both of us out from the world around us. 

“Shhh…” he whispers again as he presses his nose into my neck, holding me as gently as possible. “Shh..” 

I go completely still, feeling the warmth of his breath on my skin, just a gentle rush of air. My mind has gone blank for a different reason this time, barely even registering the way my rapid heartbeat begins to slow.

It can’t be real, the way a total contentment just surrounds me. All he’s doing is assuring me but it feels like this is what I’ve really needed. How the hell does he do that so simply?

I feel a warm pair of hands close around both of mine. He lifts he head back up and stares at me from much closer this time, his words and expression gentle. He seems hesitant, like he has something on his mind but then quickly redirects his thought. I'm not sure if he knows that I saw his head shake before he grabbed my hands. I don't know what he was thinking, but quite frankly my mind isn't in the best place to wander.

So I don’t let it. I let him squeeze my hands in his paler ones, the skin warm and soft even though he’s just been out in the snowy air.

“Look at me.” He breathes. “You’re okay. We’re okay.”

My eyes are on our hands, so when I look up I’m not expecting the wash of calm I feel when I see the way he’s looking at me, his blue eyes full of such genuine support and care it actually catches me off guard. I can’t remember another time in my life that I’ve felt so inexplicably safe, so understood even though he can’t possibly know what I’m going through.

“You-” He opens his mouth to speak but then seems to change his mind, lifting one hand almost absently and setting it on my cheek. I don't realize I've learned into his touch almost immediately until I feel his fingers gently caressing the skin there. My face is warm and flustered and his fingers are cold and trembling, but we seem to calm each other down perfectly.

It’s nice. It’s so nice. I find my breath coming more steadily and look up at him almost in question, feeling something in my chest that’s much stronger than anything else today.

“Yeah?” I mumble, curious for him to finish his thought. 

I want to be closer. I don’t know if I want to hug him or just look but the closer he is, the calmer I feel. I let my hand lift to his jacket just enough to tug a bit, hoping he’ll understand what I’m asking. He seems to get it because he doesn’t pull away, drawing me forward with a calm expression, his palm still gentle against my face.

I don’t even know what I want, but I’ll figure it out when I get there. From this vantage I can see his face in more detail than I’ve ever thought to, down to the light lashes around his eyes and the slight part of his lips as he breathes. He’s just such a comforting person in general, every aspect soft and safe, like home.

His hand has my cheek in a careful hold and I lean into that first, not even stopping to look at him because I’m sure he feels it too. I feel like I’m reaching for something, someone, only wanting to draw him in.

It takes me a few moments for it to register in my mind that he’s frozen in place.  His breath is distant but I can still feel it tickling my nose. His head  tilts , a movement similarly to one he’d make if he was slowly falling asleep, then suddenly jerking awake, as if snapping out of a trance.

He blinks when our eyes meet.

“I-” he pauses. “Nevermind.”

It feels like a windstorm, washing through the room and clearing away the fog in my head.  I blink and realize I’ve nearly pulled him on top of me, jolting away in surprise.

I sit up, making me notice just how aware I am of our proximity, the blanket falling away and causing me to shiver.  I hadn’t even realized how much I’d been crowding him.

“S-Sorry.” I blurt. “I didn't mean-” 

“What?” He gasps. His head is hung low and he's avoiding eye contact with me. I'm in too much of a daze to fully understand what just happened. 

Did anything even happen at all? My mind feels so confused I want to groan aloud, except that would make no sense to Phil in this exact moment. I would say it’s all in my head except his cheeks are just the slightest bit darker. It hits me now that for all the things we’ve seen and done over the span of our friendship, I’ve never seen him look like this before.

“I didn't mean to… uh-” I stammer, trying to come up with some way to explain my actions.

He doesn’t seem to know what I’m asking, staring at me silently.

“I mean, I… nothing.” I decide. “It’s nothing. What were you saying?” 

Phil sighs, retracting his hands and staring off into the distance blankly.  The tears on my face have dried by now and I can feel the slight stiffness on my skin where they were, tacky and cool. I already miss his touch, but suddenly I don’t feel like I can ask for it.

“I don't even remember.”

I nod, a rushed exhale escaping my lungs. I almost wish he would remember because I feel hazy, my thoughts blurred.

I try to think back to that nightmare at Shakeaway, even though just earlier I’d been doing my best not to. The moments before feel like some daydream, with my luck they probably were.

I'd asked him if he was gay. That's such an invasive question, and it's something I should have never said. I wonder if it’s on his mind now, if it’s distracting.

“We’re okay, right?”  I wonder, eyes going to Phil's solemn ones.  “Before that hallucination came I probably made things a little awkward, didn't I? “

That's when Phil's eyes go even duller and his face is as white as a sheet, cheeks dusted pastel pink. 

“You’re fine.” He snaps. “Don't worry about it."

“Are you sure?” I push. “Because if not you can tell me. I just regret putting you in a position like that-” 

“I said it's fine!” 

“You're not gonna run off on me again are you?” 

“No.” The word is sharp and sounds strange when Phil’s voice had been so soothing and soft just before. It’s slightly terrifying that a single change in his tone of voice towards me can shift everything I’m feeling so dramatically.

“Look,” I begin, panicked slightly. “I’m sorry, okay? That’s all I want to get out of this.”

He shrugs, pulling his knees up to his chest and I’m definitely feeling the space between us now, but I’m also feeling the weight of the notion hanging between us in the air. He’s not agreeing with anything I’m saying but there’s no denial either. My heart is racing again and now it’s not because of the shame of my hallucination earlier. I don’t really know why it matters.

“We’re focusing on you.” He says, voice firm. “Not me. It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it?”

He looks startled, genuinely. It’s like he’s hoping I’ll just drop it and go back to calm Dan of the morning, but it’s not going to happen. This day just keeps getting crazier, I’m not sure if I want to make this worse.

“What matters is that your dreams are changing, and we should be paying attention to that.” He insists, his tone oddly firm and leaving little room for argument. 

“That’s not fair to me, Phil.” I say softly, trying to keep my voice as low and as calm as possible. “I care about you just as much as you care about me, and I think I deserve the chance to make sure you're alright as well.” 

“I really am fine.” He huffs. “I am.”

I think back to when he’d locked himself away earlier, almost frustrated because I can’t understand why he’d ever feel the need to lie to me. He can tell when I’m not alright before I’ve even said a word, I’m fairly certain that goes both ways. It’s more than just living with someone, what Phil and I have is important.

“You don't seem fine. I just want to understand-”

“Stop.” he cuts me off. “There’s nothing to understand, okay?  My internal issues have nothing to do with your dreams and I'd rather focus in something that's an actual danger.”

“There's no need to rank our problems, Phil. Both are just as important.” 

He looks like he wishes he could be anywhere else. It’s the main indicator that I’m right even if he doesn’t want to say so. All I want is to help, I have to think about my dreams every bloody day. I don’t want to think about them. I don’t know how to tell Phil that my thoughts about him mean so much more.

“But there are internal issues?” I press.

“Not really.”  He says quickly, then with more conviction, “no.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.” It’s not everyday my best friend cries and then disappears with next to no explanation. “Phil I really, genuinely care about whatever this is. And you, okay?”

“Well what's in it for you?” He refutes. “If I sit here and have an emotional breakdown fo you it won't change your situation, so what's the point?”

“The point is I care about you, Phil.”

He sighs, heavily. I watch him drop his head back onto the sofa and shut his eyes, shrugging off his jacket finally and then just laying back against it.

“This has been such a weird day for both of us.” He mumbles, letting an arm flop over his eyes. “We could water my houseplants with the amount of crying we’ve done. We’re a functional disaster.”

I shrug, trying to convey the could-be-worse feeling settling over me with my body language. “I think the plants are your fault. I’m glad I’m not a mess alone.”

“They’d probably still die.” he jokes. “But you're right. You probably just had the scariest dream of your life and all I want do is to help, and i guess that's what you want to do for me and I should let you. I'm sorry “ 

“No need to apologize. Just know you can tell me anything okay? I shouldn't force your to do something you aren't comfortable with so whenever you're ready you can tell me-”

“No, screw it.” He huffs. “You weren't wrong, okay?”  

“About what?” I wonder,  already fully aware of what he's referring to. 

“What you asked me before you, you know.” He mumbles,  unsure of how to go about saying it without actually directly addressing it. 

My heart is beating out of my chest again and I hesitate simply because I’m asking him something I maybe shouldn’t, but he’s said it.

“You're gay?” I finish for him, placing a hand over his, just as I had done in the shakeaway.  

“Uh…” he trails off, looking slightly awkward  but not uncomfortable, and I feel relieved. “Yeah.” he pauses,  taking in a deep breath like he can't believe this is happening.

“And I care about you too, just so you know. I think that’s what’s more important.”

Even though the moment had been so serious before I’m surprised by the smile I feel pushing up my lips so I give in and let it show, watching him relax instantly when I do. It all seems so dramatic and it’s just because we’re making it, I can’t keep the dull expression on my face. I feel oddly warm just because he’s told me he cares. It makes me so inexplicably happy.

“Well.” I get out, hardly the most eloquent response ever. “That’s…”

“Now shut up.” He teases weakly. “Stop psychoanalyzing me and let me freak out over you for a damn second.”

It’s a bit forced but still sweet, he’s clearly trying to make it seem like it doesn’t matter as much as it probably feels like it does. It doesn’t matter, not really, not unless it means a lot to him.

“Sorry.” I blurt. I feel like an idiot, I want to laugh and panic at the same time. “I just, uh-”

We try to make eye contact but it feels too awkward in this exact moment, despite the fact that my hand is literally on his. Is that strange for him?

“I feel weird.” He admits. “Not because of you. It’s sort of…”

“You don't have to feel weird,” I point out. “It’s just me.”

“It's just strange, now that you know. How the hell did you even do that?” 

“Do what?”

“Figure it out.” he clarifies.  

“I’m a master interrogator.” I say sarcastically. “I didn’t, Phil. Not really. You’re still the exact same person you were two minutes ago, why does it really matter?”

“I mean, I know in the back of my mind that it doesn’t.” He admits, tapping his fingers distractedly and looking away. “It’s just kind of new for me too.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Yeah?”

I don’t know why it surprises me as much as it does. He looks flustered so I try not to show it on my face but now I’m incredibly curious, which I guess is why he’d been hesitant to share in the first place.

“Please don’t ask.” He pleads quietly. “I’m fine, honestly. That’s all it is. I just want you to be okay mostly and I guess I’m letting myself get too stressed.”

“I’d argue that that’s my fault.” I say with a shrug, leaning over and nudging his shoulder with mine. He wraps his arms around me before I can pull away though, and I realize he needs the hold more than I do.

I lift my arms and hug him back, feeling his hands cross at my back. He holds me against him without saying anything, nothing but the heater and the sounds of the flat to punctuate the moment. It’s wordless but it’s what we both need, the only real thought in my mind is how long I can hug him before he’ll want to let go.

“I’d argue against that.” He replies eventually. He moves to sit back and I deflate, sinking into the cushion again but no longer feeling the need to hide. My jumper feels way too warm in this room temperature so I lift my hands lazily and roll up the sleeves, only to cringe slightly when I remember why the sleeves had been there in the first place and both Phil and I’s gazes go down to the patterns of wounds on my arms.

So many dreams. All those nightmares that I’ve been through, all the mornings where Phil found me with another mark again. It’s hard to look away from, now that I’m doing it. 

There’s so many. Some of them I can look at and I don’t even remember the dream that was attached to it, others are ingrained in my mind either because of the dream’s content or the aftermath. I feel a tug in my chest when his eyes very obviously fix on them, though I can tell he’d tried not to.

I look at a newer one, realizing I might have gotten it today in the chaos. There’s really no way to tell because they all look like the others but it looks fairly recent, just fantastic for our fragile nerves.

“I forget sometimes.” Phil says suddenly. “When you have your long jumper I forget those are there.”

I frown and lift my hands so they’re resting behind my head, stretching the sore muscles and moving my arms out of my line of sight. He seems to understand, looking away and settling back as well, the both of us sinking back into our cheap sofa in the semi-dark of our lounge, the same location of so many arguments, game nights and long conversations.

We don’t have to talk about it right now. Phil’s patient and I’m well used to it by now.

I’m staring at the curtain-covered windows, thoughts indiscernible and mind fairly calm, not exactly happy but not upset anymore either. I look to the TV and remember the Game of Thrones episode from earlier, wondering if Phil even absorbed what was going on. Probably not. 

Maybe that’s what we need to conclude our day, even though it’s barely started. I have no qualms about wasting away the day watching shows until the evening, possibly ordering takeaway and staying up late. I turn to Phil without speaking and press my face into his hoodie, relaxing into his shoulder and closing my eyes when he lets me. It doesn’t seem like such a bad thing after all we’ve been through. We got a lot off our chests in one day.

But the day isn't over, it's far from over.

As we're sitting there in silence, tangled in a half thought out hug as we stare out of the window, a noise sounds through the apartment, cutting through like a knife in a way that makes us jump.

There’s a harsh sound coming from the front hall, the rapping of knuckles on the front door. I whip my head around from where it had been burrowed in Phil’s hoodie and freeze entirely, looking to Phil and seeing the same startled and perplexed expression that must be on my face too.

There’s silence for a moment, presumably while the person waits for a response, and then there’s a second bang. It comes again and again, louder each time. 

“Are you expecting anyone?” I wonder nervously, clinging my arms around his stomach.

He shakes his head and stands, slowly detaching my arms from around his neck. It would be surprising if he had been expecting guests, truthfully. We tend to plan visitors together.

“Stay here.” He instructs. “I’ll go see what’s up.”

I protest, making grabby hands for his arm. He just sighs and squeezes my hand. “Stay.” He repeats.

I ignore his request and follow behind him, listening from the other side of the wall as he opens the door hesitantly. I hear a few footsteps and a silent gasp from Phil, causing me to freeze in place in an instant.

There’s two unfamiliar figures in the doorway, and at first I don't really process what’s going on.

“Good evening officers.” Phil greets flatly.

I hear a muffled exchange, only picking up a few words here and there such as ‘witnessed’ and ‘concerned.’

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that someone from the shakeaway called the fucking cops.

Angry, I reveal myself and walk up next to Phil, cowering behind him slightly when the two policemen stare me down in an unsettling way. They’re silent for a while, but I can tell what they’re thinking when I notice what their gazes are fixated on.

They can see The visible rashes and bruises covering my arms. I go to pull down my sleeves, but it's too late. They look at Phil as if the marks alone condemn him to something.

This isn’t good. 

Suddenly aware of the threat, I back away, grabbing Phil from behind in the process. We aren’t immediately followed, but I know these guys aren’t willing to let us go so easily. There’s no way we can explain the curse to them, but what else are we supposed to say?

I lean into Phil. “If we have to run, we’re fucking running.” I tell him. “First chance we get.”

I’m not sure how easily we’ll be able to escape, but I’m not letting them do anything to us without a fight. I’m not even sure if he hears me but he does step closer, keeping his eyes on our visitors.

“Daniel, right?” The taller officer asks me. I nod. 

“Just Dan please.” My voice is uncomfortably formal in the way it always gets when I’m talking strangers, especially authority figures. Talking to normal people is stressful enough, now I feel like I’ve done something wrong. He’s looking at me cautiously, like I’m some kind of startled creature.

They turn their attention to Phil. 

“Sir, do you care to explain these?” He grabs my arm and lifts it up, pointing to the rashes. 

Phil’s eyes widen and he is quick to pull me away from the man’s grip.

“It’s complicated.” I answer for him. 

They seem unsure, showing no signs of persuasion. 

“We have reason to believe there is some form of domestic abuse in action here.” He turns to Phil. “We're going to have to take you in for questioning.” 

Feeling protective, I'm instantly by his side, standing between him and the cops. 

“No. He's not going anywhere.” I say shortly. Both officers shake their heads, frowning.

“I understand you're upset, but we saw the security footage, son. We can't rely on your judgment.” The one closest to me explains and with that, moves forward.

He pushes past me and grabs Phil, despite my struggle against the other guy who yanks my arms away from behind. 

“No!” I scream. “Let him go! He never laid a hand on me!” 

Ignoring my protests, the officer restraining me pushes me against the sofa and holds me there, waiting as I'm forced to watch Phil as the other officer fastens his wrists with handcuffs and begins to lead him out of the flat. He looks so distressed, confused about the situation and terrified by our separation. 

“Wait!” He blurts, turning his head. “What's going to happen to Dan?” 

“He clearly needs a hospital. Look at him.” The man holding him sneers, as if he's so certain it was Phil who put those scars on my arms. “He's sick, and he's not safe here.” 

He sounds almost amused by us, which makes me feel both angry and sick.

“That's not your decision to make!” I cry. “I'm not going anywhere!” 

“I’m afraid you don't have a choice, son.” The man holding me says coolly. “We’re just here to protect you from an unsafe situation.”

I struggle to get away, feeling the panic that's been boiling in the pit of my stomach ever since Phil answered the door rising slowly. They can’t take Phil away, he’s the only thing standing between me and losing my sanity most nights. He’s the reason I still put up with my nightmares, I want to scream at the men pulling us apart.

“Don't worry, Phil.” I call after him. “We’all get this all sorted out. They can't keep you there.” It's like my own voice will ease my panic enough to get through this if I just keep telling myself I'll see him again. 

He gives me a sad smile before he's finally pulled away from my sight, leaving me alone with the other officer. The man doesn’t let go until my best friend is out of sight and it takes me about that long to realize what this means, the sheer aloneness striking me in the chest. The room is already so silent and the officer has begun to recite his legal speech to me but I don’t even hear it. I just stare blankly at Phil’s jacket, still discarded mere feet from me on the couch.

That's when I start crying. 

It doesn't really help my case, because now I only seem crazier. I just want Phil back, and I really don't care if this guy thinks I'm insane because I know I'm not.

We just have to prove that to them. 

_ We can prove it to them.  _ I realize.  _ If they see what happens in my sleep they'll know it wasn't Phil.  _

I can't run, or try to run. It only makes me look guilty. I hate doing it, but submitting is my only option right now, my only chance of ever seeing Phil again. 

If I'm going to get him back, I have to put my curse out there in the open. I'm going to have to find a way to make them believe, to show them the truth. And I'll do whatever it takes to get Phil back.

Because I'd rather let the dreamworld take me than lose him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr @lemonheadlester and @cozydnp


	7. the power of the unconscious mind

I don't remember blacking out, nor do I remember when I fell unconscious.

 

Blinking feverishly, the only thing that comes to mind has shivers running down my spine as I recall everything that happened prior to this.

 

They took Phil away from me, they took him away.

 

Fear crawls up my arms, leaving goosebumps as wet tears stream down my cheeks and replace the dried ones. I have to get out of here. I have to escape and find Phil.

 

_Phil._ My mind repeats dumbly. _Phil._

 

What have they done to him? Am I ever going to see him again?

 

The fear is rising, but it's not until the numbness fades away from my limbs and I feel the weight against them, holding my wrists and ankles in place, that I really start to panic.

 

I'm strapped down to a fucking hospital bed.

 

As soon as I begin the battle to loosen my restraints I hear footsteps, the sound louder than thunder as it reaches my sensitive ears. A door opens and the lights are turned on, flooding my vision and instantly causing my eyes to squint in protest.

 

White. Everything is blindingly white. I can feel my heart racing when several hands are forcing me to stay still and lie back again the bed. I fight them but it's useless.

 

Hands converge on all sides and the whiteness begins to take form, people closing in on all sides.

 

Once I get a good look at the people holding me I notice how scarily similar they are. Their pale skin fades away against the wall along with their white coats and latex gloves. Masks obscure half of their faces and even their eyes all seem to have the same dull tint of grey in them.

 

There’s no expression in their eyes. They stare down at me flatly with with all the detached focus of a dissection, or an autopsy. They gaze at me as if I’m already dead.

 

The white, the flashing of the lights, the barely visible figures above me forcing me down, it's all too much. I can't tell how big this room is it how far I'd have to run if I could. The sight of pure void draws scream after scream out of my desperate, struggling form until I can barely breathe. The mysterious people are holding me down more and more intently with every attempt I make at escape.

 

“Don’t make us drug you again Howell.” The one hovering over my face and pinning my arm down huffs, applying extra pressure and eliciting a yelp from my lips.

 

I flinch away from every touch of gloved fingers against my bare skin, my jacket having been discarded somewhere back at my flat.

 

The apartment, that's where I want to be right now. I just want to be home with Phil.

 

I gasp when my head is shoved down to the uncomfortable mattress, a hand gripping my chin threateningly. I see out of the corner of my eyes something I wish I hadn't. A needle.

 

I scream again, eyes trailing the object as it's passed from one pair of hands to the other. Frozen, glued to the bed and knowing the worse I struggle the more pain they may cause me, I stop all movement entirely and try to focus on my breathing. I have to remain calm because I won't let them manipulate me.

 

The chill of the air runs down every inch of my skin, slowing time down as I began to hyperventilate. Tears sting the open cuts on my face as they get heavier but I barely notice as I'm so focused on getting enough air into my lungs.

 

“What are you going to do to me?” I whimper pathetically.

 

It crosses my mind in that moment how I would make a terrible secret keeper if I'd give into torture this easily.

 

_Oh, please no._ I beg silently as I realize what this means. _God, please no._

 

“Please…” I croak. “Don't hurt me.”

 

They're going to brainwash me, get me to believe that Phil is this evil person and that I'm insane. They're going to mercilessly twist my thoughts, feelings, and all of my memories until they're satisfied with their results and I'm nothing but a broken mind.

 

I'm not even religious, but by this point I'm already praying to every god I can think of. I've never been more terrified my entire life, not even in some of my worst nightmares.

 

Even the wolf dream, the one that nearly killed me, wasn't nearly as horrifying as this. Then, I could fight back and resist, but now, I can only watch as they fasten my arms and legs down and even my neck, rendering me speechless and motionless. There's nothing I can do anymore.

 

And not to mention _this isn't a dream, is it?_

 

Or maybe it is. I can't even tell anymore and by now I don't have the mind to think of it. It's the pure horror of the situation that strikes me somewhere in the pit of my stomachs and fries all of my nerves. This all feels way too real to be fake.

 

There's a sudden pain in the side of my neck and I know they've stabbed me with the needle, and although I can no longer see it, it's the being forced to stare up at the ceiling with no knowledge of what they're doing to me that turns every bone in my body to fragile ice that shuts down to the touch and turns to jelly.

 

I know I'm still sobbing. I can't hear myself over the familiar ringing in my ears but I can feel the cries and hiccups that escape me.

 

Someone squeezes my forearm suddenly. I go to scream again when I feel a thick cloth being fastened around my mouth as tightly as possible to the point where I can only manage to get just under a satisfying amount of air. My breathing staggers and causes me to choke on my own saliva, mouth having become so dry that my ability to swallow is almost nonexistent. My vision is going dark, my screams are muffled by the tear soaked fabric, turning to choked sobs, then to quiet whimpers as I run out of breath. It isn't long before my eyes lose their battle to stay open.

 

With my heightened senses I can feel every touch of the gloved hands against my limbs, and the fingers that are pressing down on my stomach to prevent any and all movement, and it doesn't help when my shirt is so thin I can't tell the difference between them touching my clothes and them touching my skin.

 

“Stop.” I try to plead despite knowing I'll never be heard through the gag. “ _Please.”_

 

I can't force my eyes to open again. I can't see what they're doing or what they plan to do to me. I'm trapped, a trembling, frail, broken twenty-one-year-old body at their disposal.

 

“ _Phil_.” I whisper. “Help me.”

 

Silence follows.

 

I need him. I need Phil more than anything. If anyone could save me, stop this madness, it's him.

 

But he's not here, and he never will be. Nonetheless, if I continue to think of him, to let my eyes stay closed and allow the memories of him flow through my head and sooth my nerves down to a silent buzz, maybe I can manage to stay calm, or maybe it's whatever they shot me with that's starting to kick in.

 

I'm thinking about the moments before we were taken away, the silence of the flat and the warmth of his arms around me. My only reminder of reality is gone, and I think I'm starting to understand why I've needed him so badly.

 

Phil. My best friend who knows about my nightmares, who’s seen the effects of them firsthand and felt the same fears over and over again. Who hid me away when the people at Shakeaway had called me crazy, who stayed even though nobody else ever does.

 

My vision does something strange even though my eyes are plunged into darkness. I see a burst of colour, too-bright, warping and bending with a low, thrumming pain that starts small behind my eyes but slowly builds into something burning across my temple.

 

I grit my teeth to make it stop but it only intensifies, making me gasp and struggle to escape it, escape the pain and the fear. The feeling is all around me and the colours are spreading across my vision.

 

I don’t want to give in- I try to think of everything, everything from Phil’s arms wrapping around me gently to the way his tongue pokes out when he laughs. The way his hair falls into his face when he’s flustered or the way it feels to tuck my face into his chest when he hides me away from the world. God, I want that.

 

I twitch nervously, my eyes fully deprived of their vision. It’s odd, but when I think of him the pain wanes just slightly. It doesn’t eradicate it, but I focus determinedly on everything I can think of. He isn’t just my best friend- he’s everything. He means the world to me and I want him more than anything right now and it’s thinking of him that’s lessening my suffering.

 

Warm fuzzy blankets. Sugary drinks. Eyes the colour of the sky, the ocean, and the spring at the same time. Even in this moment he makes the pain dim. He’s more than important, I-

 

I feel…

 

I think-

 

A sentence spills from my chapped lips and dissolves right into the cloth before I can even think.

 

“I love you, Phil.”

 

It's more than just a sentence. It's a statement, a confession, it's something I want to remember, but seem to have difficulty in doing so.

 

It makes sense. My heart does something it never has before, stuttering and then bursting into beats, the realization nearly making me gasp. The burning hues in my vision soften to blue, I reach out my arms but they feel leadened.

 

It's my pride melting away and turning into something more, an admission to ease my nerves. It's a-

 

And just as fast as the thought occurs, it vanishes.

 

It's…

 

It's, wait.

 

_No_ I think. _No._

 

I don't even know _what_ it is anymore.

 

I've forgotten faster than the drug can flow through my body and influence my thoughts and feelings. I want to reach out for it desperately but everything feels like it’s in slow motion and I feel something like loss, like being pulled back into a harsh reality I had almost begun to ignore.

 

Whatever it was, I know it was important. I damn sure know it was a truthful, sober thought.

 

It seems to help me fall unconscious again. I'm too far gone to question where it came from or what it means because by the time I stop to think about it, it's already slipped my mind.

 

All it takes is a soothing drug and simmering fear for me to forget everything. To replace the surge of feeling and euphoric rush with emptiness and confusion. I don't even remember what it is I said anymore. Blackness floods in, my heartbeat slows.

 

Then I'm gone, falling with tears in my eyes and a sore heart, thrown into the deep end of my mind, slowly being torn away.

 

~~~

 

I feel a jolt, an impact on my back that makes my eyes shoot open. I just barely bite back a scream, my vision met with darkness again, but slightly less. With one motion I can feel sheets gathered at my arms and legs and a slight draft that raises goosebumps on my arms, the discomfort clearing my disorientation slightly.

 

I feel dizzy, but slightly relieved once I realize I'm sat up, and not strapped down as I thought I would be.

 

It _was_ a dream. Just a dream.

 

The hospital room is dim other than the light filtering in from the door near the foot of my bed. I can’t shake the feeling like I’m in danger and I cast furtive glances around me at every shadowy corner until I’m a hundred percent sure there’s nothing, breathing deeply in and letting my racing heart calm slightly.

 

Once I get my bearings I’m reminded of where I am, and my heart sinks slightly.

 

I’m alone.

 

I'm still in a hospital, but not in the one I was before. This one, it's different. It’s real.

 

The wallpaper is a soft tan colour with a quaint rose pattern, there's a light above me that is off, and a lamp in the corner. The bed sheets I feel under my stiff hands are warm and soft, and the curtains by the window sway against the blinds as the wind from the ceiling fan barely blows against them. It’s gentler and quiet, albeit a bit outdated. No doctors in stark white swarm me, just dim light and soft beeping reaching my ears from another room.

 

I stand on my wobbly legs, sighing at the feeling of free movement, something I never thought I'd taken for granted. I take a moment to just breathe in deeply because the suffocation still haunts my senses, my chest tight and full of nerves.

 

I'm still….not home. As glad as I am to not be tied down and tortured, I still feel a pang of disappointment when I accept that not everything had been a dream. The facts are, Phil's still arrested and I'm still in a mental hospital.

 

Never in a million years did I think something like this could happen. Yeah, I knew I couldn't live with the way my nightmares have been changing much longer, I didn't think it would lead to this. If only we had stayed inside, maybe we would still be together and safe.

 

It's ironic how they think they're keeping me safe here, how they want me to believe Phil is the one who's hurt me all these years when they don't know a damn thing. And of course, it is an ill feeling to consider the very suggestion that it was all Phil the entire time. It's ludicrous, but that's what anyone could say.

 

I just have to remember I'm different from most people who come here. There's no way Phil could be guilty. He would have had to seriously alter my memories which would have taken far longer than the time we've known each other for, and he would have had to have been the one hurting me in my sleep, lying to me and forcing me believe I had a curse. It's so unlike him, such a ridiculous thing to even bring up.

 

I know that it's a lie, but in the perspective of the people holding us apart, that's the truth. And that's what scared me the most. The little demon voice in my head that tells me I could have been wrong all along even though I know that'd not true. I'm at serious risk of losing my sanity here, that is, if I even had it to begin with.

 

It's a battle for loyalty. A tug of war between trusting my best friend or professionals who are never supposed to be wrong, who are so certain I have a severe case of Stockholm syndrome and that they need to help me. But the way I see it, that's what I'm at risk for if I'm kept here long enough. They could easily take advantage of my weak mind and turn it against the only person I've ever trusted.

 

I could never let that happen, right?

 

I feel so certain of myself but I know what happens in places like these. The brain is a fragile thing, especially when it's put through the hell I've been in. It's the doubt that scares me the most.

 

So naturally, when there's a knock at the door and a short lady, most likely a nurse of some kind walks in with a sad smile on her face.

 

I don't consider the fact that she's just here doing her job and most likely has no clue who I am or why I'm here. I think about how unfair my situation is, how frustrated I am and how undeniably terrified this is making me. To me, she is the enemy.

 

“I'm glad to see you awa-”

 

“Stay away from me.” I snap.

 

She takes a step back, and I see that all that is in her hands is a tray of food and I remember how hungry I am. I still don't trust her, but I do settle down against the bed and nod, letting her know that it's okay to come in.

 

“Sorry.” I mumble.

 

“I’m just here to bring this to you.” She explain, setting the tray down on the table next to me and taking a quick step back, still cautious of what I might do.

 

“I'm sure you haven't been awake long and I understand how you might be scared.” She sympathizes. “I was sent to check up on your wounds as well, but I can come back later after you've had the chance to fully wake up.”

 

“I don't want you touching me.” I inhale sharply. “I don't want anyone coming anywhere near me.”

 

“I only want to help you. That's what's we all want, Daniel.”

 

“Stop. No, you don't.” I huff. “I'm just here to be lied to and brainwashed.”

 

She sits down in the chair next to my bed and arranges herself so that she’s looking at me from eye level, expression gentle but intentional in a way that makes me think of every time I’ve spoken to a therapist or seen someone be questioned in a movie. Her posture is careful, probably meant to be reassuring, but I’ve been unconscious almost the entire time they’ve had me here. She’s been sent to deduce the situation and I know that.

 

“Do I call you Daniel?” She asks, in lieu of nothing. “Or do you prefer Dan?”

 

She’s a stout woman, short and kind-looking with brown curls framing her face and faint wrinkles in the corner of blue eyes from smiling.

 

I tighten my fingers on the blanket draped over me and focus on some point just above her head, trying not to look like anything that would convince her I’m crazy. There’s a spider web in the corner of the ceiling by the door, so I look at that. I hate spiders, but I hate this more.

 

“Dan.”

 

She nods, shifting in her seat a little bit and picking up a clipboard and pen from the bedside table.

 

“I want you to understand that everything you say in here is confidential, Dan.” She assures me. “Nothing you say in this room will leave this room unless you indicate otherwise or give me a reason to think you plan to harm yourself or someone else. You’ve been through a lot in the past few hours and I just want to ask you a few questions.”

 

“I know.” I say before I can stop myself.

 

She raises her eyebrows but to her credit doesn’t look shocked or unnerved.

 

“You’re in St. Bartholomew’s hospital right now.” She adds. “I want you to know that there’s no right or wrong answer to any of these questions, we just need to know a few basic things to make sure you’re looked after. Is there anything you’d like to ask me right off the bat?”

 

The first thing my mind jumps to is, obviously, Phil. I want to ask where they’ve taken him, what they’ve done to him, why he isn’t here with me right now. He wants to get to me, I don’t know why he wouldn’t. I mean to ask that, but I see her hand poised with its pen and something else springs out entirely.

 

“Why are you taking notes?” I ask abruptly.

 

She blinks, smiling at me apologetically and tilting the paper so I can see.

 

“I have to write down a few points and patient information. I’m not going to be documenting everything you say or sharing your personal details. This is my own personal file so that I’m not relying on my memory.”

 

It all sounds very gentle but clinical. Why have they sent in a therapist?

 

“Am I in trouble?” I question somewhat involuntarily, wondering why they’ve kept me isolated and brought someone to analyze me.

 

Her eyes widen, she shakes her head and smiles at me gently. “Of course not. You’re perfectly safe here. The notes are so I remember what you need, Dan.”

 

My heart is still beating far too fast but I nod, feeling the coldness in the tips of my fingers only now and how uncomfortable it is.

 

“Fine.” The word comes out of me but I feel numb speaking it, my mind a million miles away from here.

 

“I can come back later to have a look at your wounds, but when I come back I'm going to have to bring the doctor with me so that he can have a chat with you.” She continues. “I promise we all intended the same thing for you, but he can be intimidating at times. I'd rather you have me see before he gets here.”

 

I think back to my dream. _It wasn't real._ I remind myself. _They're wrong about everything, but she's not going to hurt me._

 

So I nod reluctantly, pushing the blanket off of myself and sitting up slowly. I let her take my arms and trace the scars that litter them.

 

“I'm just looking for anything we may need to treat, we don’t want anything getting infected now.” She explains.

 

Then her finger stops over the scar I got when the wolf bit me. I can tell she’s puzzled, and maybe even a bit unsettled by finding such a scar. I can’t say I blame her.

 

“What's this from?” She questions, realizing a human could not have done that to me. “Were you attacked? This looks like an animal bite of some kind.”

 

I pull my arm back, moving it out of view self-consciously. “It is.”

 

I can see her drawing her own silent conclusions but she keeps her composure.

 

“What happened?”

 

I look away from the corner and stare right at her so she takes me seriously, already knowing from years of being let down that she’s going to pretend to understand me without really listening at all.

 

“I don't know how to explain anything without you assuming that everything I say is a lie and that I'm batshit crazy, but that's what you already think so go figure.” I say sarcastically. I don't even know where to begin with my dreams, but they'll see eventually.

 

“You aren’t crazy, Dan.” She says softly. “I’m here to listen to you, not to judge you. I want to help you understand your situation.”

 

“My situation.” I repeat. I haven’t fully processed what she’s said.

 

“The reason for your injuries, Dan.”

 

I curl my fingers into the blankets, gripping tightly and toying with lying. I have no idea how to even begin to explain myself.

 

“Nightmares.” I get out. “It happens in my nightmares. All of it. “

 

From the look on her face, that answer is obviously not the one she’d been expecting. She's intrigued now, but I can easily tell by the look on her face that she's assuming I've gone insane, but she's too kind to say such a thing.

 

“Are you telling me someone hurts you in your sleep?”

 

I don’t know what she’s imagining. The truth is almost as bad as whatever more realistic vision may come up.

 

I shake my head. “No, it's the dreams. Whatever happens there, it appears on my body in real life.”

 

She decides not to fight it and instead begins to ask me questions. That’s a first, though I keep my eyes on her, just waiting for the skepticism she must be feeling.

 

“How long have you been having these dreams?”

 

“My whole life.”

 

I answer the question fast and short, longing for the conversation to end as soon as possible.

 

“And you're positive someone isn't doing this to you in your sleep?”

 

“I've only known Phil a few years, if you're thinking it's him. It's not.”

 

Again, fast and short. I leave no room for further discussion. Confidence is key in these situations.

 

She nods along, as if I’ve just said something perfectly reasonable and relatable.

 

“I never said that. I'm open to your explanation.”

 

As inappropriate as it seems, I nearly let out a laugh. Maybe I had been searching for a reason to lighten the mood, but I genuinely find it hilarious, how unoriginal and fake her statement was.

 

She doesn’t seem too fond of my reaction, yet she doesn’t say a word. She lets me say my piece, something I had never expected her to do when she first walked in here.

 

“Oh please, you all think I'm crazy.” I scoff. “I’m telling you the truth.”

 

A small frown forms on her lips. She’s not happy, and I’m half expecting her to lecture me or scold me, but she only repeats herself. She’s kind, but she’s also determined to make me believe she’s on my side.

 

I won’t let that happen. She may not know it, but she’s the enemy.

 

But then she asks me something that changes my thinking entirely.

 

“I assure you I'm only here to listen. Can you tell me what happens in these dreams?”

 

As shocked as i am, I don’t hesitate to start going through everything I remember from looking at my scars.

 

“This one was from a tsunami.” I point to the scar on my head, then to the discolouration and rope burns on my wrists. “These are from a fire.”

 

I go throughout every single one, my memory of each and every one of my scars still sharp and clear. The tsunami scar is still recent and much more prominent than the burns, souvenir of a more memorable dream that I’m trying not to think about.

 

“And this one.” I stop at the scar the nurse is currently gripping with her thumb and index finger. “It was a wolf. I was almost killed.”

 

“What about these rashes?” She asks worriedly, her voice now definitely tinged with concern.

 

I look down. “That's from my hallucination.”  

 

“Which one?”

 

The hallucination is far too recent. I don’t care to think about it, but that was what they saw. They saw me running from something that wasn’t there. Of course they think I’m crazy. But I can change that.

 

“The one at Shakeaway.” I manage, my breath shaking.

 

Tears sting the corners of my eyes as I remember the faces I saw. The hollow eyes burning their glares right into my skin, the cackles that rang in my ears like church bells as I crawled across the floor, screaming and sobbing.

 

“You were hallucinating then?” The nurse asks me softly, drawing my mind back to reality.

 

I raise my eyebrows at her, feeling slightly frustrated and uncomfortable,.

 

“Yes.” I whisper inaudibly.

 

She nods, even though I know she couldn’t hear me, she understood. I'm sure no one she's spoken to had ever admitted to hallucinating before.

 

And the weirdest thing is, she doesn’t seem to want to challenge me or change my mind. She seems interested, intrigues by a curse that should sound fake to her. Maybe she’s just psychoanalyzing, but it’s nice having someone to talk to who won’t force lies down my throat.

 

“Do have a theory about why these dreams may occur?” She wonders, placing her notepad to the side entirely and focusing her eyes on mine in a comforting way.

 

“I'm cursed.”

 

“They're triggered by fear most of the time. I knew that wolf dream was coming before I even fell asleep, because I was terrified after a movie we had seen.”

 

“We as in…” she trails off, not wanting to jump to conclusions and leaving room for my answer instead.

 

“Me and Phil.” I reply simply.

 

“Where is he when you have these nightmares?”

 

She's not saying he hurts me, she's implying it. I'm not sure which is worse in the moment.

 

“If we know they're coming, he stays with me.”

 

“It's hard,” I decide to elaborate. “especially when he has to watch as I nearly bleed out in his arms and there's absolutely nothing he can do to wake me.”

 

“Even when we don't see them coming, he's always there to help me. He takes care of me.”

 

I hear her breathing slowly, taking my words in carefully. Even if she'll never believe me, it just feels good to be listened to.

 

“He's the only person I trust.” I add.

 

She frowns, biting her lip in a way that shows she's going to regret what she's about to say.

 

“The most trustworthy can be the most harmful.”

 

I don't have the patience for this.

 

“I _trust_ him.”

 

“Alright.” She chirps, hiding her previous expression with a half-convincing smile. “Is there anything you need before the doctor comes?”

 

“I need Phil. “ I gasp. “Is there any way I could talk to him? I need to know is he's okay.”

 

She sighs sadly. “Are you sure you want to contact the man who has been abusing you?”

 

Oh, _there it is._

 

“He isn’t abusive.”

 

“You don’t have to defend him in this space, Dan.” She chides, and my heart sinks. This situation is wrong, they’ve gotten the wrong idea. “The head doctor has told me you show signs of serious physical and emotional abuse. You may love your partner but that doesn’t mean the people who love you can’t be abusive. He’s not going to hear what you tell me.”

 

“My-?”

 

My mouth goes dry. They think Phil is my-

 

“You obviously care about him, and he's used that to his advantage.” She continues, mistaking my confusion. “You're safe here.”

 

“He's my best friend.” I correct her quickly.

 

There’s a pause. She tilts her head to the side, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Oh.”

 

It takes her a few seconds to come back from that, apparently having spoken without thinking. There’s a strange feeling in my stomach and I can’t pinpoint why I’m feeling it.

 

“Well... no matter the relationship, he still hurt you.” She reasons. “but he can't anymore, so you have nothing to worry about.”

 

I still don’t understand. It’s as if she’s convinced that Phil’s been abusing me.

 

“He's never hurt me!” I shout, causing her to jump back. “You have it all wrong!”

 

“Okay, can you calm down for me, Dan?” She whispers gently, keeping her distance as if I would attack her. “Take a deep breath.”

 

I try and do as instructed, not wanting to get worked up and further prove that I’m insane. Yes, I’m mad, but I have to remember what my goal is, and that is to get Phil out of prison.

 

“Like I said, all I have is your word.” The nurse reminds me. “I can let you talk to him, but I'm going to have to pull some strings.”

 

My eyes widen. I'm astonished.

 

“When?”

 

She looks down at her phone. She scrolls for a few seconds, letting me sit there in anticipation.

 

“According to a friend of mine who works down at the station, he should be in questioning right now.”

 

_Questioning._

 

“Apparently his story lines up with yours, but-”

 

“But they don't believe him.” I finish for her.

 

“Of course not.”

 

I sigh. “I can talk to him after?”

 

“Yes.” She assures me. “I'll have my friend give him the number to call and tell him it's you. He still gets his one phone call.”

 

I'm suddenly optimistic about this whole thing. Everything seems to be falling into place, _and_ I get to talk to Phil.

 

“Now he'll only have a few minutes.” The nurse explains as she gathers her notes and places them inside of the file, most likely specifically for me. “and so think about what you want to say. I’ll be right back.”

 

She leaves me alone.

 

It only takes a few seconds before I hear voices outside my door, so I waste no time to eavesdrop on the conversation. I need to know what they’re saying about me, what they’re planning on doing with me.

 

“He’s made some very interesting claims.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

“I expected this when I saw the footage, but either he’s really traumatized or very ill.”

 

“Or both.”

 

“Right. He claims he’s cursed, and I must say the amount of detail and thought that went into his explanation surprised me. He even stayed clam for the most part, which is even stranger.”

 

“You’re right, that is strange.”

 

“I must say I’ve never seen anyone like him before. He seems more confident than confused, and he shows no signs of many of the main mental disorders.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“So what was it you needed?”

 

“Actually, I want to show you something that caught my attention earlier. I rewatched the footage several times, and I mostly focused on his alleged abuser.”

 

“Philip Lester. HIs partner.”

 

“Yes, him. I noticed something very strange about his interactions with the patient.”

 

I hear a bit of quiet before muffled video footage begins to play.

 

Even behind a closed door, I can hear it clearly. I hear, I experience the side of these situations I’ve never had the chance to before. Hearing Phil’s frantic calls to me, the sound of my own screams, my mind relives the moment of my hallucination

 

I run a hand down my forearm, over the burns my own mind seared into my skin. I remember the pain, the fear.

 

But now I’m seeing this from a new perspective. I can’t see the footage, but I can damn well imagine the expression on phil’s face. I can see him reaching for me, and me backing into a wall thinking he was attacking me. I hear my scream again and I realize just how insane I appear to be.

 

I hear my sobbing. I hear the murmurs.

 

“He shows no signs of being an abuser. Their conversations are in no way staged or forced.”

 

Throughout the room. Alligations. Accusations.

 

“Daniel seemed very convinced he was no abuser. He said so with so much confidence.”

 

Judgments. Everyone is judging us now.

 

“Watch Lester here, when Daniel stops hallucinating. Look at the way he takes care of him.”

 

“That’s very genuine, but we have no proof that it wasn’t for show. We’ve dealt with psychopaths like this in the past, Jane.”

 

“Yes, but watch the patient here as well. I’ll rewind it.”

 

“There’s no fear in his eyes.” She explains. “He’s seems almost relieved to see him. In a public place, if we were really dealing with an abuser you’d think he would have signaled someone for help, or even if he felt too scared to, he would have shown some sign of fear, but there are none.”

 

I smile. She’s smart. All I really need right now is someone with enough common sense to realize Phil wouldn’t hurt a fly.

 

“Like I said, he’s the most confident person I’ve ever seen here.”

 

“We could simply be dealing with master actors, but I think we’re missing something.”

 

“You think Lester's innocent?”

 

There’s a pause, and then some hesitation.

 

“I do.”

 

“You think there’s a third party involved?”

 

The next words I hear are the opposite of what I expect.

 

“I believe Daniel may be telling the truth.”

 

For a split second, my heart stops. I jump when a cackle breaks the silence.

 

“Oh come on, Lisa. A curse?” She chuckles. “Have you gone mad?”

 

“I’m just saying, he may be right about his partner not being guilty. I cannot make assumptions about things I don't know.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

I don't think to back away in time before the door opens and I'm caught. At first, I'm scared. I have no idea what is going to happen to me until I see the reassuring look in her eyes.

 

“S-sorry.” I stutter.

 

She smiles. “No worries, I’d be curious too.”  


“You actually believe me?”

 

“I never said that, I’m just putting myself in your shoes.”

 

I make my way back to the bed an sit, folding my hands in my lap awkwardly.

 

“You think I'm confused.”

 

“I don't know what to think! All I know is that I can tell Phil is innocent. I have no clue what that means and you're-”

 

“Insane? Mentally ill?” I cut her off with a raised voice, trying to contain the words that are truly dying to spill out.

 

“Strange.” She corrects me quickly.

 

“Thanks.” I huff.

 

She turns away from my gaze, focusing at some point on the wall. She seems to be thinking about what she could say next. Suddenly, I have an idea.

 

“Can I see the video?” I ask her gently. “There might be something there that will prove I’m not lying.”

 

At first, I'm not sure if she will, but then she reluctantly hands the tablet to me.

 

“Are you sure-”

 

“I’ll be fine.” I snap.

 

“Here.”

 

I rewind and zoom in.

 

It's weird, seeing the footage if what really happened, if what's real. I watch the places where I had seen the shadows that attacked me. There were none. Of it hadn't been for the scars they left behind, I would already be convinced I'm insane.

 

I try my best to drown out the sounds of my own screams. I point to the tiny pixelated version of me trembling on the floor. I hear a gasp from beside me when the nurse sees exactly what I’m referring to.

 

The rashes being burned into my arms by some invisible force. Phil hadn’t managed to get anywhere near me at this point, but there I was, being burned by something, or someone.

 

She turns to look at the rashes in real time, seeing them there exactly as they were on the screen.

 

“Ho-how-”

 

“I told you, it happened in my hallucination.” I confirm, watching sympathetically as her mouth drops in realization.

 

“I can't believe this.” She whispers.

 

She exhales deeply, looking back to me with sympathy. “You know this isn’t enough to prove Phil never hurt you in the past, right?”

 

I nod. “Yeah, but you’ll see the full effects of my disease soon enough. And you know I’m telling the truth, right?”

 

She hesitates, choosing her words carefully. “I-I think so.”

 

“Good.” I smile.

 

The phone in her pocket rings.

 

“That's probably him.” She informs me as she glances at the unknown number on her screen.

 

She hands the phone to me with a smile and I take it without hesitation, answering it.

 

“Hello?” I answer quickly, trying to control my racing mind

 

I hear a relieved sigh, one I can recognize even through the horrid sound quality. I return the same exhale of relief.

 

“Dan? Is that you?” I hear his voice. It's him.

 

“Yes, it's me, Phil.” I reply.

 

“Oh my god. Are you okay?” He lowers his voice. “Have they hurt you?”

 

“I'm fine, Phil.” I assure him. “What about you? I've been worried sick.”

 

“I've been better, but I'm okay.”

 

I just want to shove my hand through the tiny screen and hold his. I want to be there for him just like he's always done for me.

 

“What's going to happen to you?” I whisper quietly.

 

His breath staggers, probably not noticeable to the people around him, but obvious to me.

 

“I'm not sure, they seemed pretty pissed when they were interrogating me. It doesn't look good.”

 

“What'd they say?”

 

“Well they're very convinced that I'm the one who hurt you.” He says regretfully. “I broke, Dan. I told them everything and they don't believe me. Not that I expected them to, I'm just scared.”

 

“Why?” I wonder. “What did they do to you?”

 

“The first guys who came in to talk to me started showing me pictures of your wounds, and he mocked me when I started crying. Said I was a cold, heartless hypocrite.”

 

“Every time I tried to tell them they were wrong they just got angrier, said they hated people like me and that I was a monster. They twisted my words to incriminate me, and honestly I think all they need is a confession which is why they're being so violent.”

 

_Violent._

 

“What do you mean violent?” I manage, tears in my eyes and my throat swollen with anger.

 

“When I was alone with the one guy, I think he's in charge, he was genuinely disgusted with me. I told him I was innocent and next thing I knew he was dragging me out of the chair and throwing me across the room demanding a confession.”

 

They did that to him. To Phil. _My Phil._ They hurt him.

 

“I don't even understand why they need a confession.” He continues. “They have enough evidence to put me in prison for life.”

 

“Phil, don't say that.” I can't contain the emotion in my voice anymore and _fuck_ I think I'm going to cry.

 

“Come on, Dan. The fact that we live together and you're covered in scars is pretty conclusive in their eyes.” He points out.

 

That's what does it for me. I'm sitting on the bed and sobbing, my hand that struggles to keep the phone up shaking uncontrollably. It definitely doesn't help my case when I see the look on the nurse's face that reads _‘he's hurting you, Dan. You need help.’_

 

“Dan? Wait, no.” I hear. “Please don't cry.”

 

That only make me lose more control.

 

“I'm never going to see you again, am I?”

 

I start to think about the real chances of this being true. I’ve never thought about the circumstances under which I dream, and how changes could affect it. I’ve never had any theories to test before because, well, what would be the point? Until now, I had no reason to. I have no idea whether or not I will be able to dream tonight, or any other night I’m here.

 

If I”m not able to prove anything, I”ll be stuck here. Phil will be taken away, for life most likely, and I would never see him again. I would be subject to years of inadvertent brainwashing, and chances are they could potentially get me to believe that I was crazy and PHil abused me. I have no proof of the things that happen in my dreams. I have no proof that Phil is innocent. I have no proof of anything.

 

And the chances of me being able to change that are unknown.

 

“Hey, don't worry.” He coaxes. I can tells he’s feeling guilty for putting such thoughts in my mind, but I'm starting to wonder why I hadn’t considered the possibility sooner.

 

“We'll get this all sorted out. Have you told the people at the hospital about your dreams yet?”

 

I take in a shaky breath, trying to form a single tangibile thought other than _you’re screwed._

 

“I told the nurse who put me in contact with you, but she's the only person I've seen since I woke up.”

 

His breath cuts short. “Woke up? Did they drug you?”

 

“I think so.”

 

“Listen,” He sighs. “all we need to do is wait until they see what happens in your sleep. Then they'll know we're telling the truth.”

 

“But what if I don't get a nightmare tonight? It's not like I can dream on demand.”

 

“You'll have one. Trust me. As much as I don't want you to, I know you will. It will serve as our proof.”

 

I've never wanted a nightmare more than I do now.

 

“Everything is going to be okay, Dan.”

 

I’m scared. I’ve been scared before, but never like this. The advantage of dreaming is that I know at some point or another, it will end. This is real life, as far as I know. Distinguishing the two is hard at times, but I know for a fact that that this is Phil that I’m talking to. I'm aware of how much our lives are in jeopardy, and it terrifies me.

 

I try to pay attention to the soft hushes that Phil whispers into the phone, but my mind is racing. All I can thinking about is how this may be the very last time I ever get to speak with him, and the seconds are ticking away.

 

“Hey, shh, it's okay.” I hear faintly. “Stay calm. Remember how I taught you. Breathe. Breathe.”

 

He exaggerates his breaths to help me follow along. With the anxiety still bubbling in my stomach, I find it rather difficult to stay with him. Every exhale is staggered and forced but I manage the best I can, trying to imagine his arms wrapping around me and his soft, soothing voice calming my thoughts as he would place his chin gently in my shoulder and whisper coaxing words to me. I need him, but he's not here.

 

I close my eyes and listen to the sound of his breathing. Weirdly, it’s calming. It’s as if imagining him heren is good enough, good enough for me to contain the emotions that threaten to spill out of me in the form of angry tears at any moment.

 

“Dan, I'm out of time.” He quickly whispers. “I'll see you soon. I promise you.”

 

The words I’ve been dreading, he’s said them.

 

“But-”

 

“I promise!” He hushes desperately.. “I have to go, stay safe.”

 

The line goes dead, and I swear I feel my heart drop.

 

A million things run through my head then. I don’t know where Phil’s being taken or what’s going to happen to him, nor do I know how I’ll ever be able to contact him again if the people here never find out about my dreams. I could potentially escape, but breaking Phil out of prison? Forget it.

 

He promised me we’d see each other again. He _promised_ me. That promise is all I can really hold onto besides the hope that something or someone will set the record straight and Phil isn’t punished for something none of us could control.

 

It’s my curse. My disease. Phil’s going to be sent away for life, because of me.

 

Unless of course, if there's something I can do to prevent that. The nurse knows I'm right, I proved it to her. I just have to prove it to everyone else.

 

I end up sitting alone for a while, staring at the blinded window, but not out of it. I imagine being in the outside world, being like everyone else. Then I think of the world we've all been unaware of, the world I will hopefully expose.

 

My mind holds me captive in a dreamworld, a world out to kill me, and I'll hand myself over to it in a heartbeat if it ultimately sets us free.

 

~~~

 

I hear a loud slam, a sound like metal clanging against metal, and it has my head shooting up instantly. All I hear after the is distant footsteps and the sound my breathy gasps bouncing off the stone walls in echos, like they’re throwing my fear right back at me.

 

I take a quick look around, gathering my thoughts. I feel the goosebumps on my arms, caused by a strange, yet familiar chill, one that I can only describe as _the cold._ It’s the same vague but damp chill, settling around me and over my skin in the same way it has every night where something went wrong.

 

This is a dream.

 

I feel relieved, which is something I never thought I’d feel while in a nightmare. But I’m aware of reality, and this isn’t it.

 

Reality is the doctors and nurses seeing what really happens in my sleep, seeing the truth, Reality is Phil being held in jail because of a lie, an assumption. Reality is me setting that lie straight, and proving the innocence of my best friend.

 

And this time, I _want_ to hurt. I want to feel the pain I’ve been trying to escape my whole life. I want as much proof as possible so that it can’t be mistaken for anything other than what it is. I know where I am and for once I have a chance to show that this isn’t all in my head, this time it’s not just my mind and body that’s on the line.

 

And for the first time, I don’t feel fear.

 

I stand up, feeling a bit of soreness in my neck, but no other pain anywhere else. I’m in some sort of prison-like room, the walls are stone and there’s rusted chains attached to the back wall. There’s a metal door with a tiny barred window, and there’s a crack in the wall behind me near the roof, letting in just enough light for me to see.

 

I try to remember what Eiraleene said about my dreams. They’re changing, they have meaning behind them, taken directly from fears the dreamworld targets, and even the things deep inside my mind I’m oblivious to.

 

I have no idea what I’m in for, but if this means saving Phil, then I’ll face it.

 

I hear footsteps again. They stop right outside the door, and I see a glimpse of a face.

 

Then I make eye contact with them. Their eyes are dark and lifeless, and the rest of their features are hidden by a mask. By the way their eyes crinkle at the sides, I can tell they’re grinning. Evilly, too.

 

Then they’re gone, just like that. I’m confused until my thoughts stop short as someone groans behind me.

 

I turn towards the sound but I already know what I’ll see before I see it, heart sinking.

 

I see Phil, his wrists bound above his head by the previously unoccupied chains, his head hung low and his form hung high, just enough to where he can barely sit comfortably on the ground, so that he can’t use his legs to hide.

 

His eyes are shut and the bruises under his torn clothing indicate beatings. His fingers twitch every time he manages a deep inhale, but he makes no attempt at escape, not even a struggle.

 

“Phil.” I gasp, running to his side.

 

I’m not afraid for him, I’m angry. Knowing this isn’t him only makes me mad, because he wasn’t supposed to show up in my dreams anymore.

 

Yet here he is. Beaten, bleeding. Hurt in all the ways I’m afraid of. That’s what these dreams try to manifest.

 

Fear. But I’m not here to be afraid for him. He’s miles away right now.

 

As soon as he sees me he pulls on the chains, trying to get to me. I make sure to stay a safe distance away from his. Seeing the blood on his face is getting a rise out of me for sure, but I’m aware that this isn’t him. I definitely don’t like it, but when he raises his gaze to look at me, there’s no familiarity in the expression.

 

And that makes sense. The way he looks at me isn’t the way Phil looks at me at all because the dreamworld doesn’t know him the way I do. It calms me enough to properly look at him and speak without wavering.

 

“You’re not Phil.” I say simply, keeping my voice as calm as possible.

 

He gives me a mildly convincing look of hurt and confusion almost right away. I roll my eyes.

 

He frowns. “Wha-”

 

“This is a dream.” I state. “You’re not the real Phil.”

 

I wonder if he knows he isn’t real. He must. Does that mean he’s even conscious at all if he’s just a construct?

 

“You aren’t… supposed to be here.” He mumbles, voice strained.

 

“I- what?”

 

“You shouldn’t be here. You’re not afraid.”

 

The area around his wrists is red and rubbed raw where the chains circle them. The empathetic, human part of me tries not think about how painful it looks. I try not to think about it.

 

“I’m here for proof.” I tell him. “The real Phil is in trouble.”

 

“What are you proving exactly?” He asks irritably, shifting his shoulders like he can’t get comfortable. “Since when am I not real? This feels plenty real to me.”

 

I have to repress the instinctive urge to flinch at his words which are clearly being aimed to make me feel guilty. I can’t let him convince me that he has feelings. The dream is challenging me like it always does, pitting my own mind against me. I have to challenge it back.

 

I shrug. “You’re my dream. You tell me.”

 

He outright glares at me for that, an expression of betrayal that looks so unlike Phil’s face.

 

“You don’t care at all about me, do you?” Dream-Phil asks sadly. “You’re supposed to be my best friend, but you don’t care about this at all.”

 

“I care about Phil plenty.” I retort. “But I’m not stupid. I know he’s far away right now.”

 

“You aren’t afraid.” He repeats. “Why are you here if you aren’t afraid?”

 

“Because I want to be.”

 

His eyes widen slightly at that statement, staring at me like he’s thought of something he hadn’t before.

 

“Do you know where you are?” He challenges, yanking at his restraints and trying to make direct eye contact with me. “Do you know what’s going to happen to me?”

 

I ignore the second question, focusing on the blood oddly enough because it’s keeping me focused. He looks so much like the Phil I know, the same face with the same soft, delicate face and messy dark hair. The injuries are the least recognizable thing about him.

 

“I know where I’m supposed to be.” I say tiredly. “St. Bartholomew’s Hospital might be claustrophobic but it has better walls than this.”

 

I look pointedly at the stone bricks surrounding us, which he doesn’t seem to appreciate.

 

“Stop making jokes.” Phil snaps. “You need to help get me out of here. You aren’t proving anything if you leave here without me.”

 

“You’ll be fine.” I dismiss. “So long as I think calmly enough. No matter what happens you’ll clearly appear in some other dream.”

 

A strange look passes over his face, his head shooting up to stare straight at me even though moments before he hadn’t even been able to lift it. _This_ time the gaze meeting mine looks like Phil; wide-eyed, curious, slightly off guard. It catches me by surprise and for just a moment it feels like a shock in my system, making me forget for a split second that who I’m looking at is not my best friend.

 

He stares at me, the blood and bruises colouring his face darkening all the shadows and making his stare feel more intense.

 

“You can’t decide that.” He mumbles, but it sounds like he’s asking me. “You can’t just come and go.”

 

“What do you mean?” I ask as his eyebrows raise in surprise, unable to make sense of it. “I chose to come here so that someone would believe me. I’ll leave here when I wake up.”

 

He stares at me with curiosity and wonder.

 

“But you shouldn’t be able to dream willingly. That’s not how it works.”  

 

I look around exaggeratedly just to indicate how present we both are at the moment, encompassing the prison room.

 

“Well I am right now aren’t I?”

 

This exact thought seems to cross his mind too and it’s like something’s hit him, he straightens up slightly and very audibly gasps.

 

“You’re the one.” He whispers.

 

Confusion hits me. “I’m the what?”

 

He breathes out excitedly. “I knew it.”

 

“Knew what?” I protest but he’s not meeting my eyes, just staring in shock at some point near my chest and muttering quietly.

 

“If you enter the dream world willingly then you’ll see me more, I knew you were important and I knew you were different somehow-”

 

“What are you on about?” I cry, lurching forward to grasp at his chains. “What do you-“

 

Suddenly, two masked men burst in, both dressed identically with faces concealed. It happens so suddenly that I let go of Phil without even registering it, whipping around at the startling bang.

 

There’s a strong force like wind that throws me against the wall, tossing me aside as if I’m nothing. My head smacks the stone hard, I sink to the ground with my hand pressed against my head, feeling the blood there.

 

I can hear the clinking of chains and heavy footsteps but it’s the warmth of the blood that registers first, the sting as my fingertips press to broken skin and I imagine the doctors in the waking world panicking at the inexplicable wound opening from nowhere. Now they’ll see it too. _Now_ they’ll believe me.

 

Disregarding the pain, I smile. There’s my proof.

 

My head is aching and I try to wipe the blood on my trousers. I’m not even disgusted by it really, it happens unconsciously and I wonder now how long it will be before I wake up.

 

“Dan!” Dream-Phil screams. It snaps me from my thoughts of satisfaction. One man is holding him pressed against the wall while the other is drawing out what looks like a knife, clearly meant to make me feel threatened even though I’m conscious that I’m sleeping this time.

 

I realize Phil never answered my question and look up at him, only to see a completely different expression from what was there before.

 

His eyes are wide and full of fear, staring right at me and not at the men. The look on his face is so blatantly betrayal that I have to do a double take because I can’t help it- it looks like _him_. It’s the face that I’m so afraid of seeing on Phil that I’d never thought I would see, and it’s on his face because of me.

 

Even if this isn't the real Phil, which I know it isn't, this dream very much resembles a prison, one similar to what he might end up in. Maybe my fears take realities to extremes, but everyone does that, don't they?

 

The difference is that these extremes are playing our right before my eyes, and it's hard to pretend it doesn't affect me emotionally. It’s reminding me of the real Phil being taken away because of me, the hurt he’s feeling that is all my fault.

 

Suddenly, I don’t care if this Phil is real or not. I don’t care that this might not even be happening, the blood seeping down into my hair is real enough. The fear on Phil’s face, the pain- that’s something that’s too real to ignore.

 

“Dan.” He gasps. “They’re controlling me. They’re controlling you. She can’t tell me what to think, you can control your dreams. Don’t let them tell you what to-”

 

“Shut up.” The man holding the knife snaps suddenly. I wait for a reply but to my shock Phil does, shutting his mouth so abruptly you’d think he was possessed. “Another word and I’ll shove this right into your heart. You know your place, keep your pathetic thoughts where they belong.”

 

It’s not real, but Phil’s fear is. He's probably terrified right now, wherever he is. I think about what he told me, what the interrogators did to him, and it makes me furious. He doesn't deserve to be caught up in this mess.

 

“Dan.” The man says coolly, as if the outburst hadn’t happened. “So good to see you here so unexpectedly.“

 

I can’t make out an ounce of detail on his face. My eyes are fixed on the knife poised above Phil’s chest, daring him to speak out again.

 

“Who are you?” I ask. “Am I supposed to know who you are?”

 

“Your dreams have a will of their own sometimes it seems.” He answers bemusedly. “It’s not often that the manifestations take on a mind of their own and try to tell you things without prompt. Philly looks like he really wants to answer your questions.”

 

Phil looks at me helplessly but it’s like he’s gone mute, his mouth doesn’t move but I can see all the feeling in his eyes.

 

“He’s not real.” I say defiantly. “You’re a figment of my mind too, I’m sure of it.”

 

“Not exactly.” The other man replies. He grips Phil’s shoulder and Phil flinches, it makes me uncomfortable seeing my best friend’s face in pain. “Do you know who this is?”

 

I frown at them, waiting to see if they’re serious. The man continues to gaze at me from behind his mask.

 

“I don’t know what you want me to say, but that’s Phil, or a fake Phil, rather.” I huff. “What about him?”

 

“I want you to look at him.” The man goes on. “This is your mind, Dan, but don’t be mistaken. You can’t come and go in the dreamworld whenever you please without consequence.”

 

I look at Phil and see tears in his eyes now. The man lifts his hand and turns Phil’s chin exaggeratedly so that he’s forced to look at me, a sick feeling churning in my stomach.

 

It's not him, but it easily could have been.

 

“Look at his face.” The man sneers. “You claim you don’t care about him at all. He’s not real, so we can do whatever we want to him, right?”

 

I bite my lip but realize that for whatever reason, I can’t stand to speak right now when blue eyes plead with me imploringly, silently hurting without saying a word.

 

I know they’re just taunting me. They’re just trying to provoke me.

 

“No.” I get out.

 

“You’ve told him something very important by refusing to acknowledge him in a dream.” The man drawls. “You’re damaged and selfish, willing to ignore his pleas for your own personal gain. He doesn’t matter to you at all.”

 

“He’s not real.” I repeat. “I care about the real Phil.”

 

“It’s not just about _caring_.” The man sneers. “Your dreams are a reflection of your subconscious. Real or not, this Phil represents fears within yourself that you refuse to acknowledge. You lie about being indifferent to any pain he feels, yet you can’t bear to look into his eyes when he’s suffering. By condemning this Phil right now, you’re condemning the suffering of the real Phil.”

 

How do they know about anything in my real life? They don’t.

 

“For all you know, what happens now is just a projection of what you’ll bring to him in the future. As long as you keep him around you’re forcing him to feel the pain you bring every night. I’m surprised you don’t take the dreamworld more seriously.”

 

The blood on my skin is starting to cool and it only adds to my discomfort, I don’t know where to look with my eyes and my mouth has gone dry. It’s almost like he thinks my dreams could be real. Guilt at the notion that these are actually my thoughts hits me full-force, as I begin to understand the implications.

 

“I’m sorry, Dan.” Dream-Phil says suddenly. “I thought I mattered to you after all these years.”

 

_This isn’t real. This isn’t real._

 

“We _are_ your mind.” The knife man taunts. “Nobody is telling us to hurt him or try to make you scared. This is you. You’re doing this yourself.”

 

“He’s not… Phil.” I gasp. “You’re lying.”

 

“Do you love him?” The man implores. My heart goes tight in my chest. “Is that why you’ve let him go without putting up a fight? The parallels are incredible aren’t they? In real life you’re useless as he’s punished for your curse. In dreams you only want him for proof. It’s almost like you just love to use him.”

 

The words hit hard and all at once I feel anger, lurching up to my feet with an unbearable urge to scream. How dare they assume anything about what I feel for Phil? It’s like he’s put a voice to the worst part of my mind. It’s true, isn’t it? I’m selfish. I _am_ using Phil for myself. All I ever do is hurt him.

 

I can see the satisfaction when my feelings cross my face. I can’t even look at Phil. The man looks delighted for another chance to mock me.

 

_“Do you love him?”_ He repeats, grinning as the man behind me grabs my arm and pulls me back, pinning me against the wall. I have to peer over his shoulder to see what's happening.

 

_Love._

 

My hands begin to shake and the word spirals is my head, denial not far behind it. It’s worse than the pain, worse than the fear. I don’t know, I don’t want to, I _can’t_ love him. All I do is hurt him, and they _know_ that.

 

_“No.”_ I whisper with a scratchy voice. “Not him. He's not _him.”_

 

“You still aren’t looking at him.”

 

“I don’t want to.” I blurt. It shouldn’t matter. If it’s my dreams, the secrets aren’t my secrets anyway.

 

“What makes him so different from the real Phil, really?” He taunts. “You seem to be catching on better than you think you are.”

 

“You don’t have to hurt him!” I scream. “I get it! I know his life is ruined because of me. What sadist enjoys seeing any version of their best friend in pain?”

 

I just want to get out of here. Dream Phil had said I have control. They can’t keep me here.

 

“Oh, but he isn’t _real_ , right Dan? He doesn’t matter. All that matters is that some doctor doesn’t think you’re crazy.”

 

“You don’t get to tell me what to think.” I spit. “I’m leaving. You won’t even exist after this anyway.”

 

A dark expression crosses what I can see of the man’s face. Phil looks at me with a mix of shock and despair, my heart dropping in my chest. Before I can process exactly what I’ve said I feel rough arms forcing my own behind my back, rooting me in place so that all I can do is look.

 

The man abruptly whips around and grips Phil by his hair, forcing his head back and making him cry out. The sound is so sharp and so real that a strangled cry leaves me, but the hands holding me keep me from reaching him.

 

“You will soon discover that you cannot defy the dreamworld” He threatens. “You seem so sure that you can protect Phil in real life, and it’s sweet that you can delude yourself. But this is real life, Dan. And you’ve clearly chosen yourself over him.”

 

“But this is a dream.” I argue frantically, hearing Phil gasping as the knife is traced over his cheek, teasing. “This will never really happen.”

 

“You better knock on wood, son.” The man holding me grumbles. “I wouldn't be so sure of yourself.”

 

“Please.” I hear Phil choke out weakly. “Dan.”

 

“I don’t love you.” I choke through gritted teeth, panic rising in my chest. “I didn’t do anything wrong. You. Are not. _Real.”_

 

“If you didn’t do anything wrong then you wouldn’t feel guilty, Dan.” The man sighs, bored. “Now watch carefully I suppose, to the person you’ve decided not to care about.”

 

They’re trying to mess with me and I can't deny that it's working. They're trying to get into my head and make me feel guilty. I can't let that happen.

 

I maintain a glare at dream-Phil, watching as his face falls in response once he realizes I won't be making any attempt to save him. I'm tempted to fight, but I remain completely still.

 

Because this isn't him. This is an illusion. It doesn’t mean anything in my real life. It _doesn’t_.

 

It’s then that knife is dropped down, a bitter laugh filling the air.

 

Phil kicks his feet out screaming as the masked man drives his knife right into his forearm, squeezing it tightly so that he can't squirm. The sound is inhuman, less like his voice and more like an animal in pain, making my blood run ice cold.

 

_This isn't him. This is an illusion._

 

I’m thinking it but the image is right there in front of me, blood bursting forth and too vibrantly red even in this dim light.

 

“If you could control your dreams, this wouldn’t be able to happen.” The man croons, smirking. “You’re so cocky, why don’t you stop me? Don’t you care for Phil at all? You’d think that dream or no dream it wouldn’t make a difference.”

 

Phil gasps, the knife yanked out of his trembling arm that he can’t grasp to put pressure on the pain. His hands are still bound, his eyes now squeezed shut.

 

Everything I see is so surreal, and with every second it becomes harder and harder to remind myself that I'm staring at a phony. It's all so realistic, and watching as my best friend is brutally tortured wasn't something I was prepared to do. Real or not, my heart still aches and tears still roll down my cheeks. I can't seem to find the words to explain it.

 

_Guilt. That's what it is._

 

_“_ You stand by. You’re idle. You think you’re superior for knowing this isn’t real, but I might as well be handing you the knife myself.”

 

He traces the edge of the blade along Phil’s cheekbone, opening a cut near his cheek. Despite myself I yank against the hold on my arm but the grip is like steel, I can’t get away from the nightmare.

 

“What was that sweet thing about cat whiskers in your real life?” The man questions quietly. “Shall we draw them on him together?”

 

The statement makes my cry out. I remember exactly what he's referring to, that time when we drew cat whiskers on each others faces for fun. It's such a distinct memory that I'm starting wonder how much these guys really know. It's a memory that hurst ti thin back to now, watching as it's recreated in a horrid, twisted way.

 

Most nightmares I’ve had have played on my fears. I’ve seen and felt horrific things, been beaten and burnt and terrified so many times it’s hardly even new now. I’ve lost Phil before in that dream that played on my emotions, but never before have I seen him tortured because of my own words. This is my greatest nightmare, maybe even my greatest fear.

 

He draws another cut just above the first and Phil is definitely crying now, I bite my lip and the motion is so harsh I feel a sharp sting of pain as it bleeds. The taste of it floods my mouth and I tether to it, grounding myself with the pain.

 

Bleeding, like the red lines of blood running down his cheek because of my words.

 

“Aww, open your eyes Philly.” The man mocks softly. “Look into his eyes so he can promise you he doesn’t love you.”

 

“It’s not him.” I cry. “ _It’s not him!”_

 

_“Stop.”_ Phil gasps, his breaths ragged and skin running bright red. “Please. Make it stop.”

 

“It’s Phil that will suffer if you think you can overcome your curse. You’re a condemned man, Daniel Howell, you belong to this world forever.”

 

I have to look away as the next swipe comes, closing my eyes and trying to gasp for air with a tight throat and a pounding head. My heartbeat is rapid and the mere thought of becoming trapped here forever causes splitting pain to strike the back of my head.

 

I can barely breathe, barely think. Blood is running along the cracks in the stone floor and it’s the crimson colour of anguish, I can’t even look up but the sounds and feelings pierce every inch of my being anyway. I hadn’t realized I was crying but there’s heavy tears dripping down my cheeks. This is torture for me too. I hate it, I hate it.

 

_But it’s not real._ For a split second, I blink and blue eyes flash in my vision, not unfocused nightmare ones but eyes looking fond on a snowy morning, safe and happy in another moment entirely.

 

Then, everything goes silent and dark.

 

I can’t hear heavy breaths anymore. I don’t hear the impact of the knife. I hear nothing, the arms pinning me back have let go.

 

“You know what it means, Dan.” I hear the man’s voice say as my sobs fade to nothingness. “It might not have happened yet, but you will never forget this.”

 

He's right. I may never be able to repress the look on his face, but tonight, I win. Because I know this wasn't Phil. For the first time, _I_ was in control.

 

I willingly entered a dream that shoved another fear in my face and forced me to watch it unfold. I'm afraid of losing him, and of hurting him and seeing him suffer because of me.

 

But I faced those fears. I conquered them. I did what Eiraleene told me to do, and it worked.

 

I blink once, and I can see again. I see morning light clashing with the dim glow of the lampshade, colours shading over the familiar rose patterned wallpaper.

 

I never thought I'd be so relieved to see a hospital room, but I am.

 

Because it’s over.

 

My heart is still racing in my chest and I realize that there are very real tears drying on my cheeks, as well as a very _very_ real, sharp pain in the back of my head, one that wasn't there when I fell asleep. I look up to see several white-faced doctors staring back at me, looking as if they’ve seen a ghost.

 

And despite the horrors I had to face, I got what I went there for. Looking at the astonished gazes that peer over me as if I'm a museum attraction, I know that they saw. I feel a strange drop in my chest upon realizing that for the first time in my life, someone believes me. They all look like they want to speak, but are clearly too stunned to.

 

I raise my hand weakly in a pathetic wave, tilting my plan to block out the sunlight. The brightness is making my head hurt, but I crack a victorious smile.

 

“Good morning.” I quirk. “As you can see, I’m very injured right now. How are all of you?”

 

They all blink in unison and I almost laugh at it, seeing them scramble when they realize they’d been ogling.

 

“Uh,” The nurse from earlier gulps. “are you alright, Dan?”

 

“I'll be okay, thank you.” I assure. “Just let Phil know I’m fine?”

 

“Dan, this is doctor Billingsley. He was supposed to be your doctor, but you're, well, you're definitely a first.”

 

“ _First_ is definitely one way to put it.” The doctor agrees, stepping hastily forward. “I definitely had to ah, see it to believe it.”

 

I go to shake his hand, ignoring the slight pressure in my temples. He still has a look of shock on his face and in still trying to block out the memories of what happened in my dream.

 

I greet him as smoothly as possible with a smile on my face.

 

“Hello. My name is Dan and I’m cursed. Nice to meet you.”

 

 ~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr @lemonheadlester and @cozydnp


	8. the catalyst

**Tw: mentions of abuse**

The cell is dark and quiet, and Phil is left to himself.

It’s not like he’s been mistreated, not really. The tiny block is clean and he has a mattress to sit or sleep on, albeit a small one with slightly uncomfortable springs that creak as he lays back and stares up at the grey cinder block walls, dull and industrial with a few chips in the paint. He’s already been fed once today and for the most part nobody speaks to him, not since he’d been admitted over twenty-four hours ago.

Even now, all he can think about is the look of fear on Dan's face that he saw before they were separated. The sound of his terrified voice from the phone call plays over and over again in his head, haunting him.

It’s crazy, all of it. He’s an alleged abuser and his best friend is in danger of brainwashing. There’s only so much determination can do for him because if Dan is unable to prove his curse, who else do they have to save them? How have Dan’s dreams gone from a quiet secret they’ve meant to handle to something like this?

It’s pretty clear what his hosts think of him, the looks shot his way ranging from scathing to indifferent, like he’s below their dignity to look at. He knows it’s because they just don’t have the story straight but it’s unnerving to remember being stared at like he was some terrible person while Dan is out of his reach. Literally, because even the phone call had been watched. They weren’t supposed to have contact at all, for Dan’s own ‘safety’. It’s crazy to see how people treat him when the story’s entirely wrong.

_ Abuser.  _ He sees it in every glare, in the expression of every uncomfortable intern sent to give him updates. It’s bizarre mostly, knowing he doesn’t deserve any of this and yet everyone’s so convicted in hating him. He’s starting to feel like he  _ has  _ done something wrong, even though it’s ridiculous.

His family. He wonders if his family has been informed and what on earth they must be thinking. They must know that he’s innocent, that he couldn’t do the horrid things he’s been accused of, especially not to the person he cares about more than anyone else in the world. For some reason the thought of his mum crosses his mind. Would she believe a stranger if they told her what Phil had allegedly done to Dan? Never mind that everyone involved still seems to think Dan is his partner. Nothing makes sense anymore and he doesn’t even know where to begin to clear it.

His family. He remembers the first time Dan had ever met his family, how warm and welcoming they’d all been with his older brother teasing them and his mum pulling Phil aside to say  _ I think he’s a keeper, Phil.  _ No way would they look at Phil and believe he could abuse anyone, let alone him. How could anyone believe they would do that to each other? Even his mum knew they’d be friends for a long time, for forever probably.

His family. Will they come to see him? Would they even believe him? Or would they refuse to speak to him? There’s a dull feeling in his chest by this point, it’s been more than a night and he can feel the burning in his eyes that’s one part anxiety and another part that’s just stress. He’s in tears now, on the verge of losing everyone he loves, on the brink of defeat.

Dan probably feels like Phil’s abandoned him. Their morning watching  _ Game of Thrones _ feels like ages ago, he remembers fighting with everything in him that morning to keep a stony face, an impressive feat when he thinks of it because in truth he’s a horrible actor. He can still feel the spike in his heartbeat like a phantom memory from when he’d had Dan so close, how the urge to pull him even closer had only confirmed what fear he’d had to face when he’d met his own red, watery eyes in the bathroom mirror that morning.

_ Something. _ A lot of something at once.

He’d hold Dan so tight if he had him right now, Phil knows that. He’d hug him close and not let go first for once, bury his face in those soft, warm-smelling curls and tell him everything is alright. Even now when everything hurts the thought of Dan makes Phil feel something deep and inexplicable, he almost wants to hug his knees to his chest just to feel some form of closeness right now.

Is it stupid to be thinking about a crisis like that when he’s literally in police custody for a crime he didn’t commit? Humans are selfish as hell, he’s aware of the fact that his mind seems to be focusing on very specific places while he’s isolated. It feels so much stronger when there’s nothing in the way to help him deny it- it’s like he’s just been trying to ignore it so far but his mind knows better.

Dan. What is he feeling right now? At least he’s probably being cared for better than this. It suddenly doesn’t seem like such a big deal to tell him anything. Thinking about him feels calming but painful at the same time, it’s maddening because it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before, bigger than either of them and so strange in juxtaposition to their situation.

Slow, taunting footsteps have his head snapping up before he can even think, eyes meeting those of the officer that had interrogated him no less than an hour ago. He hopes he’s here to tell him that he’s free to go, that they know the truth now, but his face drops when he sees the dark look in the officer’s eyes.

_ Why is he here?  _ He thinks, slumping down against the back wall and cowering, the pain in his back from when this very person tossed him across the interrogation room still fresh in his mind.

It’s unsettling to see the built, shadowed frame of the man again. He lingers at the opening for just a moment, dark eyes narrowed.

He opens the door to the cell gradually and lets it creak, glaring right at Phil with anger and disgust. This isn’t their first meeting and he approaches Phil with intent to harm, to give him what Phil knows the man believes is justice for doing something that may have hit a bit too close to home. They’ve had that conversation already, Phil sees the resentment and anger in his eyes and he knows he can only back so far against the wall.

“You’re sick.” The man spits. “Why won’t you just confess, stop wasting our time.”

“I have nothing to confess to.” Phil replies, eyeing the officer as he looms above him and trying to keep his voice level despite the rapid beating of his heart. “And I’m pretty sure this isn’t allowed.”

The silence that follows feels like ages, the scorn in the air is so physically present Phil feels like he could touch it.

“Not allowed?” The cop scoffs. “I assure you this is entirely off the record, so you don’t have to tell your lies anymore.”

Phil remains still and silent, as if hiding in plain sight. No matter what he says the man won’t believe him, from an outsider’s perspective Phil probably wouldn’t have either.

“I just need to hear it for myself.” He goes on.

More silence follows before Phil swallows the knot in his throat and is able to speak somewhat clearly.

“This must be something really personal to you if you’re talking to me off the clock.” Phil tries. “What is it you want to ask me?”

It’s clearly not the best thing to say but at this point nothing really is. The man’s glare lessens just ever so minutely, maybe caught by Phil’s awareness. It’s clear the man thinks he’s being taunted, taking a deep breath before responding.

“Why?” The officer asks calmly, trying to contain himself. “The things you did to the poor boy, someone who trusted you, who’s going through hell and back just to undo the damage?”

The damage. A sick feeling flits through Phil’s stomach and he shakes his head, hurting for Dan even more now.

“I swear I’ve never hurt him.” He mumbles. “I couldn’t.”

“You’re starting to sound like a broken record with that response.” The man scoffs. “Try something else.”

“I didn’t hurt him and I never will.” Phil repeats tightly. “Our life together is nothing close to abuse. It’s not like that at all.”

“What the hell do you call what you did then!?”

“I didn’t!” Phil cries, losing his patience. “I couldn’t!”

“Cut the shit!” He shouts, harsh breaths blowing over Phil’s frightened face. “I asked you calmly the first time, don’t expect it again.”

“I mean what I said, I  _ didn’t _ hurt him!” Phil cries, shutting his eyes. “I’d be the last person in the world to do that, I’d never be able to even if I-”

“Just cut it already!” the cop shouts as he snatches him up by the collar, letting his legs dangle as he demands a confession. “If you have any shred of human decency in your body you’ll show some sort of remorse.”

“You think you’re entitled to it by threatening me?” Phil rebukes bravely. ”He’s my best friend, I’m not going to lie about abusing him!”

The man’s look goes dark at those words and he yanks Phil’s back without warning, dragging him to the other side of the cell and shoving against the wall. The painted brick is cold and it sends a jolt up Phil’s spine that makes him flinch, pain and frustration clashing in a sudden storm as he tries to hold back tears with a very real notion that the moment hardly even feels real.

“Listen to me right now, boy.” The cop says darkly. “I’ve been in this line of work for twenty five years and I don’t do it because it’s fun. This isn’t just me doing my job, I’ve spoken to dozens of domestic abuse victims who thought they were loved by their friends, their partners, and every time their person talks about how the hurt one is so special to them it makes me so goddamn sick. That boy is barely old enough to be an adult and already he’s terrified of pain and the world around him, and you wanna tell me that comes out of nowhere!?”

“Don’t you tell me about Dan.” Phil defends, gritting his teeth before eventually losing control. “You don’t know a goddamn thing!”

“Don’t you think I haven’t heard that same excuse a thousand times?” The man retorts. “ How can you even do this to him? The kindest thing you could do is tell the truth so he never has to see you again. You’ll go to trial if you don’t confess now. You’ll make this so much more painful for him.”

He’s wrong. He has it all wrong. Phil doesn’t even know where to begin to fix his judgement, the story is so warped. He’s being manipulated to feel guilt for something he hasn’t even done.

“Well if you’re so convinced I’m no different than the others then why are you even here?” Phil questions, feeling a combination of fear and anger. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth for fucks sake!” He practically screams. Phil wishes for a split second that someone may have heard him.

“I already have.” He says simply “It wasn’t me, whether you choose to believe it or not. I never expected you to.”

His voice is firm, but he feels tremulous. This man has gone out of his way to bypass even the rest of the police, Phil suddenly fears this man may kill him.

“Give me one good reason to believe it wasn’t you, the only person who’s lived with him. Give me  _ one! _ ”

Tears gather at Phil’s eyelids the more he thinks about Dan and what he’s gone through. He’s getting more annoyed with this man and more concerned with what exactly Dan may be going through in this monet, when he can’t be there to help him through it. 

He cares about Dan so much it hurts. He’s frustrated that there’s no way to say that anymore, no way to help him get back to Dan. They’re both in situations where they have no one to trust, they’re alone and afraid. Dan’s mind has been in a fragile state for months now, now that things are changing. He’s confided in Phil, saying how it’s hard to distinguish between what’s real and what isn’t. Phil could only imagine what he must be thinking right now, perhaps wondering if it’s all a dream. He must feel so lost.

And Phil would rather let himself rot in this cell then allow Dan feel that way.

“I wouldn’t hurt Dan.” He breathes sharply. “Never.”

“Why should I believe you!? Why not!?”

Phil responds frantically before he can even think about what he’s saying. He’s tired and emotional, and the constant questioning isn’t helping. He just wants the shout the truth from the rooftops, so he does.

“Because I’m in love with him!” He cries out.

The man holding him freezes and narrows his eyes, his grasp on Phil remaining sturdy but his face faltering with disbelief.

Phil realizes what he’s done, and this the desperation he felt in that moment was enough to make him blurt out his biggest secret for the first time ever, to possibly the worst person.

There’s a moment of silence, a numb one where Phil gasps out a breath, breaking it.

“What did you just say?” The officer growls.

Phil opens his eyes, no longer cowering at the officer’s crazed ones. He hangs limply against the stone wall with defeat once he realizes what he’s said, and the first person he’s ever told this to.

“I’m in love with him.” He croaks.

His head feels fuzzy suddenly, floating, a surreal sensation taking over his senses as the truth dawns on him all at once, concrete and unavoidable. He hasn’t just said it as a question. He’s saying it because it’s true.

He loves Dan. He  _ loves  _ him.

It strikes him like a bullet and for a brief moment the iron hold of the officer doesn’t even matter. He just wants Dan to be safe, determination coursing through him suddenly to make sure he’s okay no matter what.

_It’s true,_ is all he can think dully. _It’s true._

Next thing he knows his head is being slammed against the stone, not hard enough to draw blood but just enough to where he falls to the ground when let go. The impact is sharp and Phil feels rather than hears the broken sound that leaves him, the jolt of the drop shooting up his arms and legs.

“You make me sick.” The man sneers, kicking him in the side, drawing out a distressed groan. “Is this what you do to the boy? Do you enjoy doing it and then tell him it’s out of love?”

Phil makes a wobbly attempt to stand and is quickly pushed back down by a firm hand and with both palms braced against the stone floors he looks up and dares to meet the haunted gaze again, not in fear, but in fury. The man isn’t even done yet, unable to stop now that he’s started.

“Is that what you’ve done to him?” He snaps. “Drawn him in with some sweet little lie and hurt him just enough so that he thinks it’s his fault? How many times did you scare him into saying his wounds happen in the night? I’ve seen a lot of shit in my time, but what you do is on a level of plain  _ sick  _ that I rarely see. You disgust me.”

“I know it’s hard to believe-”

“Hard to believe?” He shouts. “It’s a lie! That’s it! You’re the most condescending, hypocritical little shit I’ve ever had to talk to. You’re a fucking psychopath, that’s what you are.”

“I’m not a psychopath.” Phil knows it’s true, but he feels strange that he’s even having to say it.

Like a nightmare, he’s snatched up again and shoved back again, this time against the barred door and causing it to rattle.

“You  _ are _ a psychopath.” The officer insists. “And the fact that you’re claiming to love the person you’ve abused only makes me want to shove your head through these steel bars and hope that it gets that fact through your thick skull.”

As degrading and horrible as the words are, Phil knows he would do much worse to any person who might’ve done such a thing to Dan. He can’t say he blames the guy for being mad. Numbly, he wonders what exactly this man has seen over the years. What personal trauma must have made him so passionate, to the point where he isn’t even rational but desperate to hurt Phil just as much, if not more than he thinks he hurt Dan. 

Nonetheless, he knows the words aren’t true. He hasn’t hurt dan. He’ll  _ never  _ hurt Dan.

“He has a  _ disease. _ Like I told you before!” Phil’s begging him now, he knows that. He needs him to understand.

“Bullshit!” The denial comes again as the fingers tighten the collar around his neck, close to choking him.

“For the last time,” Phil huffs, struggling to break free of his interrogator's grasp. “I never hurt him. He means everything to me.”

That statement earns him a final blow to the jaw. He cries out as he collapses and his vision goes hazy. He can feel the stone floors scraping against his skin as he's dragged across the cell, before he's left there once again with a hand clutching his face and another holding his weight upright as he leans again the back wall, watching as the man leaves.

“You’re lucky you’re protected under the law with your  _ human _ rights.” The man mutters finally. “A bit of a stretch for you if you ask me.”

The door slams shut with a clang and Phil barely feels it as he lets himself go limp, an ache already beginning to pulse in his cheek that just adds to the orchestra beginning all over the rest of his trembling body.

_ “Fuck.”  _ he whispers to himself, wincing as a wave of pain shoots through the side of his face. He’s breathing deep and sharply but oddly enough he can’t even cry now. He just feels stunned, staring with glazed eyes at a fixed point on the wall unable to pinpoint any real feeling.

This isn't how it was supposed to happen. He’s just confessed his love for Dan under possibly the worst circumstances to someone who could care less about his feelings. To someone who found it sickening that a person who was a monster in their eyes would be capable of loving Dan in what he's assumed is some sadistic way. It shouldn't have happened like that.

He always imagined himself bravely confessing to Dan, telling him everything and following it up smoothly with a kiss. He thought about that a lot, almost to the point where he couldn't even look at Dan without letting his mind wander. Everything about them had up until now represented something good and real in Phil’s life, everything he’d ever wanted, imagined even. It always felt right with Dan. Now that it’s out there he can’t deny what the thoughts do to him, he wants to kiss Dan and be with Dan and god knows what else with Dan. Maybe he’s always known that.

But it only ever stayed in his head, until now. Now he's possibly made his situation worse just by impulsively letting his feelings out. And he can’t take that back. Not when he’s just confirmed this for himself, too. Now it feels all the more real. There’s nothing he can do about it though, it’s like he’s been wildly misplaced.

He can’t take this, though. Being wrongly accused of outright torturing someone is one thing when there’s no truth behind it, but when that someone is the person he's in love with, his best friend, that’s when he can’t take it anymore. It feels like some cruel joke the universe has played on him. He loves Dan, and he's never wanted the world to know that more than he does now. He feels like he’s failed him for leaving him so utterly alone with people who could never understand him.

He crawls back across the cell, ignoring the slight pain as best as he can while he pulls himself onto the thin mattress, seeking comfort in any form. Retreating into a ball with his arms pulling his legs in, he still feels stunned as his head finds the rough fabric and he shuts his eyes. All he wants is an escape from this surreal reality. He wants to go back to the moments before everything had fallen apart, back to their flat or to Shakeaway where the snow had fallen around them and they’d been able to just look at each other and confess everything, lost in thought. Dan and Phil versus the world.

After a while he starts to hear footsteps again, and his heart sinks.

_ Not again.  _ He thinks, even though it would be unrealistic for the same man to have already returned, and this is proven when someone else appears on the other side of the bars.

“Something’s happened at the hospital.” She informs Phil, going to Unlock the door. “You’re free to go.”

“At the hospital? You mean to Dan? Is he hurt?” Phil contemplates the possibilities, but if they’re letting him go this can only mean one thing.

Dan’s had a nightmare, and they’ve seen it now.

~~~

**Dan**

“Can you do me a favour and lie down?” The nurse, who’s name I’ve learned is Jane, asks me kindly. “I just want a closer look at your injuries if you don’t mind.”

I comply, keeping my eyes trained on Doctor Billingsley who is chatting quietly with another nurse, the one Jane had been speaking to earlier, and a few other doctors. He’s the definition of the standard head doctor, his coat in pristine condition and his spectacles framed by salt and pepper hair. He hasn’t even spoken to me really, too caught up in everything to do with me.

They all seem perplexed, still mid-shock, even. Of course they’ve never seen anything like what I have before, but at least they can’t deny its existence. The evidence is there now, both on my body and in video, the culprit no longer a person when everyone I know is miles away. They can’t point fingers at Phil anymore, can’t even blame him when they’ve seen it for themselves.

_ Phil.  _ I realize. Now that I have proof of his innocence I can see him again, they have to be letting him out soon, if not already.

“Have you gotten word to Phil yet?” I wonder aloud, directing my question towards the doctor, the one in charge who at my voice stops mid-conversation. “I’d like to see him.”

I’m expecting them to tell me off for asking anything in the newness of the moment. Some of the younger doctors definitely look uncomfortable, but that might just be due to the gaping wounds still sitting on my skin.

“No need to worry.” Billingsley assures me, taking a few steps closer and sitting down. He averts his gaze briefly to the nurses’ small hands as they supply the wound on my head with an ice pack, eyes trailing over the broken skin in a mix of deep thought and morbid fascination.

“Please let him go.” I plead anyway. “Now you know he didn’t do anything.”

“He’s been released, and is already on his way over as we speak.” The doctor says sympathetically. “I’m sorry for the trouble this has caused you two. I have to say I’m still quite stunned about all of this.”

Trouble. That’s one way of putting it. My heart picks up at the thought of Phil being here in a matter of minutes or hours though, so I try to make the effort.

“The novelty wears off, I promise.” I tell him, voice tired even to my own ears. “I came to terms with it so long ago I’ve stopped thinking I’m crazy.”

He shakes his head and chuckles quietly, still mostly in disbelief.

“Well it’s one thing to hear it and a whole other to actually witness this kind of medical phenomenon.” He tells me. “It’s not so much a matter of thinking you’re crazy.”

I shrug and let the chill of the ice seep into the soreness of my skin, dulling the worst of the pain while my mind for the most part drifts elsewhere.

The doctor mutters some instructions and a few nurses leave the room, one carrying paperwork and the other sent off to grab something. The room goes quiet as the door falls shut, his eyes eventually going back to me.

“Now,” He hesitates. “I would really like to know more about this,  _ thing. _ ”

“Thing.” I repeat. He raises his eyebrows.

“Why is it that no one ever noticed your wounds until now?” He asks curiously. “If you say these dreams have been present your whole life, how has no one ever known about them? It seems baffling to me that something like this would go virtually unnoticed by a sibling or parent.”

“My family knows. And the dreams have grown worse over the years.” I explain. “I mean when I was a kid my fears were restricted, so the nightmares were much simpler. I would fall out of trees or run away from monsters, but the older I got the more realistic my fears became. The older you get the deeper your thoughts run.”

He peers at me curiously and jots down a few notes, understanding dawning on his expression.

“So you believe that you were condemned by your own learning and imagination.”

He sounds almost as if he’s speaking about something spiritual, his words slow and deliberate like he’s trying to remind himself he isn’t just humouring the notion of a god or something. Not that I can blame him, it’s almost amusing to think that I’ve probably brought more to his ordinary work day than anything he’s seen in his entire medical career. There isn’t exactly a course in medical school that prepares you for boys who can’t keep their dreams to the night world.

“I never really started to have life threatening ones until very recently.” I add. “No one ever noticed before because the wounds were mild. Sometimes a teacher would notice the scars and bruises under my sleeves, but I was usually able to cover it up once. My friend’s mum did call social services on my parents when I was twelve, but we lied our way out of it.”

He seems fascinated now, his eyes going wide. “I can’t even imagine what they must have thought.”

“I had learned how to hide it in the past, but so many new things have come up and I can't keep up.” I sigh, trying not to think about the things Eiraleene told me that burn in the back of my mind. “Shakeaway was the first time I never had any kind of hallucination.”

It still feels strange to have someone believe me, namely a medical professional who doesn’t seem freaked out or uncomfortable.

“What did you see then?” He asks cautiously, jotting a few notes onto a clipboard.

I shrug. “Nothing much at first, I just had a really painful headache.”

I think back to the moment where the world had gone warped, distorting all at once. “I wasn't sure what was happening until I suddenly got goosebumps, it was like the temperature had dropped at least ten degrees at once.”

“You got colder.” He notes.

“I always do. The dreams always get colder right when they start to become reality.”

He writes it down even though he probably has absolutely zero ideas behind it. I don’t mention the fact that I’d looked back and had suddenly been unable to see Phil. I’m afraid of losing him, I’m sure that goes without saying. The chilly feeling and the fears is probably enough for a stranger to go by, the rest too personal to leave my head.

“Then everything started bending and distorting,” I go on, “and that's when I saw the shadows.”

“Shadows?”

“Yeah.” I can still clearly see the way the world had gone dark, twisting hands reaching out at me in the chaos. “They were shadows shaped like people, and then the people themselves all turned and their eyes were gone. There was blood on their faces. They stared at me, chased me, and it was like their gazes were burning into my skin. Like lasers.”

He puts down his pen and it’s like he’s really seeing me for the first time, completely fascinated but almost a little worried for me.

“Is feeling cold an indicator of dreaming?” He tilts his head to the side.

I nod. “It’s different from just ‘feeling cold’ but that's the best way I could describe it. It’s a deep-set kind of feeling like walking through fog or being somewhere really damp. Like the setting could be anything but I can never shake it.”

I explain a few more of my dreams to the doctors, who listen and take notes, intrigued. It's a relieving feeling to actually be listened to. Recounting them feels strange, like describing a memory I’ve had since forever but never put much thought into. They’d happened, they’d passed, the wounds closed and I moved on with my life. There’s never been anything I could do about it.

Not until now.

I’m being kept on the second floor of the hospital, stationed in the mental health ward with a bed by a window that overlooks the city below. I’m told that the windows sometimes frost up when the temperature dips and that they don’t yet know how long I’ll be here, but they’re working on getting me off of a police case and into a medical one instead.

There has never been a case like mine in the history of the hospital, at least not one so inexplicable. I mostly just want to get home even if the staff is friendly and the view of the Thames outside is pleasant, appreciative of the fact that I’m being listened to but also not entirely sure what these people are supposed to do about me. Most people don’t even believe in curses, even I’m not entirely sure what it means to  _ be  _ cursed. I take instructions and answer questions but as soon as everyone busies I’m left on my slightly stiff hospital bed to watch the doctors in the room mill around, leaving me with my own thoughts.

Oddly enough I think of Eiraleene, wondering where she is or what she’s doing right now. I haven’t seen her since my nightmare, she may be the only one who truly knows what’s really at work here. I know somehow that I can’t mention her to anyone here, they’d likely just dismiss her as a left of my psychosis-that’s-not-psychosis. This leaves me to stare at a crack in the ceiling, tapping my fingers as the sky slowly darkens outside and people murmur nearby.

I’m almost considering nodding off to sleep because nothing’s happening right now, leaving the doctors to whatever their business is, when a sound startles me out of my much less dangerous daydreaming.

There’s a muted knock at the door, the hand clearly hesitant and frail. Someone who's out of place, and someone who knocks in the same pattern every time. Not firm and official like the police, not polite like a doctor.

Careful, hesitant. Familiar in a way that I know almost immediately.

My heart picks up and I don’t even wait for the doctors to give me permission, pushing my sheets off without thought. I jump up, watching as the door opens and a tall figure steps in, his gait awkward and nervous. He wanders in cautiously and I have a split second to take him in. As soon as he sees me, he freezes.

We make eye contact, and my heart leaps in my chest.

Phil.

I run to him, stumbling on the smooth floor but pushing forward anyway. I don't care about the people watching or what they might think, what they have already assumed about us, it doesn't matter. He's here, and he's okay.

He mumbles my name as we crash into each other's arms, holding on tightly. Only a few hours ago I was so certain I would never see him again, but as I bury my nose into his neck and breathe in his familiar warming scent I feel more at peace than I ever thought I could. I might have even let out a sob or two, I don't remember. I just hold, cling, and don’t let go.

He feels warm and even though he’s tired he holds back just as tightly, his breaths the only sound I can hear. We stay like that for a long time, relief flooding the air like morphine and my nerves settling all at once. I’m still angry but it’s not at him, all I know is I won’t be letting anyone near him for a while. It feels like the world has shrunken down again, this time in a good way. My world of movie nights and takeaway and quiet conversations at weird hours. I don’t know what he’s been through, all I know is I’ve missed him so much.

When I finally lift my head up I'm able to get a better look. He sees this, immediately trying to turn his head away, but I gently take his chin between my fingers and examine the bruises scattered across his cheek and jaw. I see the dark circles under his eyes, prominent on his pale skin.

“They hurt you.” I breathe dumbly, shaking in anger.

I don't want to let the thought of it ruin this moment, but I can't help it. How dare they? How could anyone lay a hand on him like that?

“It’s-” He places a hand on the side of my face. “It's okay, Dan. I'm okay.”

The touch feels like an electric shock, I blink move and stare at him, eyes wide.

“But-”

“It doesn't even hurt that much.” He tells me. “I'm alright, really.”

He had said one of the cops was being a little violent, but I didn't want to accept it. I didn't allow myself to think about it until I saw the effects.

“Phi-”

“Dan,” he shushes me lightly. “They thought I did this, and I can't say I blame them for getting a bit physical. I probably would have done a whole lot worse to anyone who I was certain had hurt you like that.”

“I know.” I whisper. “I know.”

I hug him again. It must look like I’m holding on for dear life, like I’m suffocating in the tightly squeezed arms, but I feel like I can actually breathe for the first time in a while. I squeeze tighter, so tight that anyone who wanted to seperate us ever again would have to pry him away after killing me first. I can feel the same strength in his own arms and the way he holds me close.

We thought we’d never see each other again.

I let my arms slip a bit and slide down to loosely cling around his waist, before detaching one to turn and face the nurses.

“Are we free to leave?” I ask, pressing close to Phil, the subconscious fear of separation still fresh in my mind despite me knowing there’s nothing to worry about.

Jane nods. “Yes, but are you sure? You're welcome to stay overnight and if you do we can see if there's anything we can do for those burns.”

_ Oh, right. _ I remember.  _ Normal people don’t keep treatments for anything in everything in their own house. Normal people don’t have to worry about most injuries. _

“We've already got stuff for them back at our flat, but thank you.” I explain flatly, leaning into Phil.

This reply earns us multiple blank, skeptical looks.

“Are you always prepared for these things?” She asks. It’s pretty clear this isn’t the response she normally gets. 

“We try to be.” Phil pipes up. “I'm no doctor, but Dan and I have had to learn how to do a few simple things over the years. His dreams used to be pretty consistent for the most part.”

Before Phil, all I had were parents to take care of me. There was never any way I could live on my own, not with what my dreams do to me. I tried at university, but I couldn't even finish the first year after several close calls with people noticing as they became worse. I have no idea what I would have done if it weren’t for him. I probably would still be living with my parents, unable to have any sort of life with the growing intensity of my nightmares. I’ve even had this growing fear that one day I would be forced to live in total isolation, and that’s if I didn’t die. I don’t really know what I’ll do when and if Phil leaves one day.

“They’ve only drastically changed recently, yeah?” She inquires.

“Exactly.” I say without thinking. “I know why too.”

It’s only with the stretched silence that I shift uncomfortably, regretting the decision to continue this conversation.

“Why?” The second nurse, Lisa, pushes.

“I-"

Even Phil looks surprised and it crosses my mind that I’ve kept so much of this to my head. My mind is blank and I’m wracking my brain frantically to think of something plausible that won’t land me in here for another several days, when the door opens.

Maybe after everything that has happened I’m still a bit jumpy. It’s takes me only a few seconds to realize it’s just the doctor and relax. Saved by the bell.

His strides are quick and he’s holding what looks like some scribbled notes on a notepad, hastily written mid-conversation most likely and slanted in that academic cursive that always looks scrawled and scribbly but common in offices.

“So I just got off the phone with someone who really wants to meet you.” He announces to me. “He’s a doctor who’s been studying this disease for years. I knew something about it seemed familiar.”

“There are others.” I ask, albeit more of a statement than a question. ”Others who have it.”

“Sure are.” He agrees. “Most of them are in similar situations to yours, but unfortunately there are some who, well, they’re-”

It looks like he’s struggling to find the right words to say so I make an assumption, aware that if my thoughts are confirmed, there’s no denial that what I’ve been told in the dreamworld is entirely true.

“-In a coma?” I finish hesitantly.

He looks at me solemnly, surprise evident.

“...Yes. How, how did you-”

“A girl who’s been showing up in my dreams recently. She told me.”

He lets out a muffled sound, something between and huff of breath and a grunt. “It’s funny you mention that, when I was on the phone with my friend he mentioned his first case was this girl who despite being in a comatose state for three years now, she’s in perfect health and seems to never have nightmares. He says she’s one of the first he ever came across, and one of the most severe cases.”

My breath catches. That’s Eiraleene, it must be. The thought of her having a physical body somewhere in this world, this city makes me feel both strange and exhilarated. If she’s real then everything is, there’s answers out there to all of this.

“He’s invited you to meet with him at his hospital. He’ll tell you all he’s learned so far and you can talk to others like you who are admitted there.”

I turn to Phil, who nods in agreeance. It’s an obvious yes. I’m almost anxious for more answers. Maybe this is someone who can help me. Maybe I’m not doomed after all.

“You two can stay here tonight,”Jane suggests. “And tomorrow I’ll take you both there myself. No need to pay for public transit if I’m heading over there anyway.”

Her words catch me by surprise, but I'm the first to speak.

“You would do that?”

She sighs. “I’m curious too. Plus, it’s the least I can do after everything you’ve been through.”

“I suppose.” Phil agrees quietly, meeting my gaze out of the corner of his eye. “Dan doesn’t like hospitals that much and I wouldn’t want to overstay either.”

“It’s fine.” I cut in. Honestly, I’d almost forgotten where I was to begin with. All I can think about or look at right now is him. I’m eager to get a full night’s rest and to wake up to answers tomorrow. Now that Phil’s here, I’m not as worried as I was.

They turn down the lights and issue us an extra blanket, offering to bring in a cot or provide a separate room for Phil but he turns them down. I try not to think too deeply into it, staring out the frosted window at the city lights below, stretching on to the Thames in the distance where they shimmer and sparkle. It’s snowing again and I imagine walking among the drifts with him when all of this has settled to make up for the unexpected disaster that’s found us.

Phil sits on the edge of the bed and gestures for me to join him, so I follow. He pulls me into his arms and onto his lap, uncaring to what anyone thinks. I rest my head on his shoulder, hesitant to address the various looks in the nurses’ eyes. Intimacy is our normal, and I need something normal right now. I don’t care what they think, and I know Phil doesn’t either. They're quick to leave us be anyway and once they’re gone I don’t think twice, relaxing instantly against him.

Phil knows I’m overwhelmed after everything that has happened. He knows I’m scared. He knows how to help me think of the nice things, happy, even. As soon as his hand finds my shoulders it begins to run up and down in soothing motions, calming my jittery nerves at once.

I let myself relax as my eyes grow heavy. He doesn’t stop his motions, running his palm back and forth until I let out a sigh.

He has the same fears that I do, the fear that I could end up like those in comas, never to wake up ever again, or that I could die. He knows it too, and he fears it as well.

_ You belong to this world forever. _ The masked man had told me over an illusion of Phil’s tortured body. It only happened just last night, I haven’t even told him yet. It makes me want to cry right here in his arms because even though we’re safe and secure right now, it won’t be this way forever. I have a feeling this is going to get much worse.

~~~

“Dan? Dan!”

Everything is dark. It's terrifying, really. I don't know where I am or what's happening until I hear more of the same voice.

_ “Dan.” _

An imagine flashes through my head. It's Phil, the way I saw him in my dream.

I scream and fall back in the bed, grasping my hands into my hair and begging silently for my mind to stop harassing me.

My breathing quickens and I feel a hand in mine, but my vision has gone dark and all I can see is a bound Phil, sobbing, the tears falling down his bloodied cheeks and causing him even more pain.

Even when I shut my eyes it's all I see. I can't escape it, I can't fight.

“ _ What's happening to him? _ ” I hear distantly.

“He’s cold.”

I feel a sudden pressure from under me and I'm lifted into someone's lap.

“ _ What does that mean?” _

_ “He's hallucinating again.” _

It's strange to be hearing the real world conversations, hearing Phil's voice over the sight of his tortured body.

_ “How do we stop it?” _

I'm recalling it. I'm having flashbacks to my dream through a hallucination, even scarier than the first time because I'm used to the dreamworld, not to this.

“I'm not sure, this is only the second time it's happened.” He replies hastily. “I do know that it's possible to pull him out of it, unlike his dreams.”

I feel a gentle touch on my face, the words that had been over me much closer.

“Dan.” It’s his words, his voice. “Dan, I'm right here.”

He says that, yet all I can see is his broken form.

I sob when I knife is thrown towards him, burrowing in the wall with a taunting  _ clink _ .

“It's not real, Dan. It's not real.”

“No!” I scream, watching as another knife is thrown his directing, just missing his ear by an inch.

_ “ _ His pulse is accelerating. He's going into shock.”

“Snap him out of it!”

_ If only it was that easy. _

I  _ want _ to wake up. I  _ want _ to make it stop. I'm well aware of what's happening and where I am but I'm suck. I'm trapped and it  _ hurts  _ to be trapped.

“You're safe. You and Phil are both safe.”

I've never experienced the real world and the dreamworld side by side like this before, and it's terrifying. I can feel the hand holding mine but I can't see anyone besides dream-Phil.

“Blood.” I manage in a whisper, unaware of what I'm even trying to say. “Blood.”

It's like a timelapse of my nightmare, except I seem to be hallucinating it. I want to scream at someone to stop it, I want to find the real Phil and let him hide me, but all I can do is mumble the same word over and over again.

“Blood?” I can tell I’ve terrified someone, but I don't know who. I can’t see. They must think I'm injured, but I'm not. It's much, much worse than that.

Ringing pierces my ears and drowns out the calls of the only people I know are real, and instead I hear and echoed voice. I don't recognize it.

The mind doesn't create new people, nor does it create voices. That's what Phil had said, but I'm not entirely certain I'm dealing with my mind alone.

“ _ You think he's safe _ .” It sings. “ _ You're dangerous to him, you don't even know of the abilities you possess. You'll kill him _ .”

_ “He's not immune to the dreamworld, no one is. Not anymore.” _

And then everything suddenly goes away and Phil is gone. There's a distant ringing left behind and everything is dark and, for the most part, silent.

I gasp.

Then I blink, and I'm right back where I was when I fell asleep. Cradled in Phil's arms, breathing heavily. He meets my eyes and gasps when he realizes I can see him, a weak sound leaving me in both fear and relief as the previous image of him dissolves. We stare in shock for a few minutes before he thinks to say anything at all.

“It’s fine!” He cries. “Just leave us alone! He'll be okay!”

“At first, no one seems too convinced until they see me. Completely unharmed, just a bit startled. That's all they can see, they don't know what happened, only Phil understands.

The doctor, still skeptical, and a different one than from before, places a hesitant hand on my shivering arm and holds my wrist gently, pressing two fingers to my vein to check my pulse.

“Are you sure, Dan?” She asks me worriedly.

I nod, curling up towards Phil. To feel better. To feel safe.

After they all leave I hug Phil again, slowly wrapping my arms around his torso and seeking comfort in his returning grasp.

I settle my head against his chest, letting him guide me as we lay down on the hospital bed that was only made for one person. He doesn’t seem to mind the close space, and to be frank, I don’t either. I’ve never realized how warm and soft he could be, I almost don’t want to pull away.

He notices when I roll over, attempting to get comfortable, so he threads his fingers through my hair to steady my head, gently massaging my scalp by tracing faint circular motions with the pads of his fingers.

I feel so much so suddenly for him, I just want to say something- anything, the words springing to my lips immediately.

“Missed you, idiot.” I mumble.

I feel the vibration in his chest when he chuckles, his deep voice drifts through the air delicately, making me feel a sort of affection for me that has my hands going to his subtlety.

“It was only a day, Dan.” He reminds me in a whisper.

I shake my head and close my eyes. His hand closes. So does mine.

“Doesn’t matter.” I yawn. “I still missed you.”

I’m not entirely sure of it, but I’m pretty sure I feel him smile faintly. He’s not stupid, there’s no way we can pretend this isn’t happening. It’s so nice I’m completely not to mention it.

“Yeah?”

Phil focuses on the patterns he traces in my hair for a few seconds before finally responding in a voice that’s almost too quiet for me to hear.  _ Almost. _

“I missed you too, idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr @lemonheadlester and @cozydnp


	9. where you belong

“So how long have you two known each other? You seem very close.”

Jane has been nothing but kind to us. She's awkwardly tried to start up several conversations that have all fizzled awkwardly into nothing, yet she continuously tried to break the ice.

I turn to Phil, whose head is dipping slightly, clearly exhausted. There are bags under his eyes that seem to get darker each time they involuntarily fall shut and his lashes flutter, struggling to stay open. Jane’s question is quiet and directed at both of us distractedly as she focuses on driving, navigating the narrow gaps of traffic at a slow pace. I'm not so sure Phil’s even heard it, so I answer for him.

“Four years.” I say simply. “We met over the internet and we've been living together ever since I left uni.”

“Oh.” She replies curiously. “Where’d you go?” 

My mind flashes back to my uni days, which probably weren’t the best I've had in my life.

“Manchester.”

“What'd you study?”

I have so many memories of my time in that program, ones of hiding my nightmare scars from roommates and of procrastinating for so long I’d have breakdowns over the lack of time I had to do assignments I’d not wanted to do in the first place. Definitely not the most fun time to remember between the mess my body was and how much I’d failed at being a proper adult, though the city was nice and it eventually got me closer to Phil.

“Law.” I hesitate, forcing a laugh. “A mistake.“

“Oh.” She hums sadly. “Why'd you leave?”

I don't feel like saying it, not again. I just meet eyes with her in the rearview mirror until I see the realization in her features.

“Oh.”

Phil is still silent, but I can feel his pinky wiggle against my own, subtly hooking around it. He knows what I went through at uni. He remembers all of the nights I'd Skype him when I had to miss my classes or leave because all I could do was lock myself away in my room until my scars faded. I even remember the look on his face when I first told him about my dreams.

I feel a strange sensation, realizing how far away that all feels now. Being in Phil’s life feels as natural as breathing now, he knows everything about me. The moments of fear I’d had prior to telling him seem flimsy and fake, but that really was a time.

He didn't believe me at first, thought it was some kind of prank. I almost took back what I’d said as just that- a joke, willing to dismiss the truth if it meant I didn’t lose him. But I needed him to know, I needed someone to understand. It wasn't just my mental health that kept me inside for days at a time. It’s almost as if I knew then that he’d become more than just another sort-of friend that would drift off and leave me eventually. He was more than that, which meant I couldn’t keep my secret from him forever.

It was painful, lying to him. I’d risked so much telling him and it was at that point I thought I would lose him forever, but I wasn't stopping there. I couldn't remember anything I wanted more than for Phil to know, to have someone like him to understand and support me.

All I needed was a huff of disbelief from him and I was hastily pulling my shirt over my head, probably scaring the shit out of him now that I look back on it, but probably crucial to explaining something that by all means should not make sense in any realistic sense.

I remember how he had gasped, the look in his eyes as they widened and scanned every inch of my battered body. The scars on my skin, old and new, all a testament to everything I had told him. Not evidence, but still conclusive.

How he’d sighed and told me he was sorry.

I look at him now, watching as his head falls for a split second before his eyes snap open and he blinks away his drowsiness. A valiant effort, but it’s a battle he’s clearly losing.

That’s him, the same Phil I knew then but not. I know he didn't sleep. He told me he did, but I know he didn't.

I’d woken up in the hospital in the same position I had been in when I’d fallen asleep. I know Phil. He must have stayed up all night and held me, absolutely motionless. It’s taking a toll on him now and I feel guilty, but so inexplicably warm at the same time.

“Phil.” I whisper, tapping lightly on his shoulder and causing him to jump a bit.

“Mm?”

The noise leaves him but his head dips even lower the moment it does, he groans when he has to lift it back up. I see Jane’s eyes flit to us in the rearview mirror.

“Sleep, please.” I beg. “I’ll wake you when we get there.”

“M'not tired.” He mumbles. “I don't want to sleep.”

I chuckle and press my hand against his face, giggling as he leans into the touch immediately and allows me to guide his head into my lap.

“Nonsense.” I quip. I’m smiling even though he can’t see it, hopelessly endeared by someone who’s frankly too caring about me for his own good. “Yes you are.”

He sighs and closes his eyes, mumbling something incoherent. I just massage his hair lightly and let myself get lost in the features of his face, soft morning light slanting in through the window and across his worn out features. He’s so out of it right now, I find myself reaching out to touch without even thinking about it.

I drag my thumb over his eyebrow and move my free hand to his cheek, tracing the smooth skin there before running a finger over his lower lip. I'm not sure why I do it but it feels right, the skin is smooth and warm and softer than I expected. It’s nice being able to stare without having to look away, knowing he can’t see it. I don’t want to stop looking.

By some miracle, it seems to be relaxing him further. It does quiet him, and seems to give him the chance to relax and slow his breathing.

As for my own breathing, I’ve possibly begun to forget about it.

Because he’s beautiful. In every way, really. From the way his hair falls over his forehead and casts shadows over his eyes to the way his lips press together when he feels my touch on them, the slow rise and fall of his chest and the stubble above his mouth. Everything.

“You're pretty.” I mumble without thinking, my voice cracking. The words leave my mouth and I'm completely oblivious to exactly what I’ve said until I hear a chuckle from the front seat, my head snapping up at once.

“I thought you said you were just friends.” Jane laughs.

My heart plummets and I snap my gaze back down to Phil, realizing that if he's heard I have no explanation for the words that somehow just came out of my mouth, scanning his slack features for any sign of expression.

“We- we are!” I defend, letting out a shaky breath when no response comes from Phil and I know that he must be asleep. In that small moment, he’d passed out. He’s too out of it to notice anything, but I still feel hot all over from the notion that  _ someone _ heard.

Does she mean it? Is that what she thinks I meant? Hell,  _ I _ don’t even know what I meant. Does me making a passing, honest comment actually imply that I-

“How in the world can you be ‘just friends’ and be that intimate at the same time?” She laughs. “I want a platonic buddy to snuggle me and call me pretty.”

I’m definitely blushing. I hope to god she’s not looking.

“We're just close is all.” I explain quickly. “We've been through a lot.”

“I understand that.” She hums. “I just like to tease.”

I'm about to breathe a sigh of relief, but then she grins.

“I also like to observe." She adds with a wink. "You’re totally in love with him, just saying.”

I feel a surge of several things at once then. It probably shows on my face but there’s nothing I can do it, my breath isn’t coming and I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, that stupid rosy patch on my skin that Phil likes to poke probably flushing vibrant right now. And now I’m thinking of Phil again. Great.

“I'm not in love with him.” I mumble. Is my voice calm? I can’t even tell anymore. It doesn’t make sense, I’m just being stupid. She’s just joking. I suddenly wish I wasn’t stuck in a car for this conversation, there’s nowhere for me to go.

She shakes her head and smiles but she doesn't push, just laughs softly. I’m thankful for that.

Although, I don't know why I was so quick to refute her. Why am I so afraid of a bit of banter? That’s the actual problem here, I think as my eyes wander back to outside the window. The joke itself doesn’t even mean much. I don’t have to care what she thinks, but why does she think it? Why doesn’t it confuse me the way it should?

I banish the thought quickly, looking back down at Phil and watching as he sleeps peacefully. My head lowers to bonk against the passenger’s side window and I exhale slowly, letting my heartbeat slow and indulging a bit as I gaze without any worry of being caught.

He's beautiful. There doesn't have to be any romantic implication for me to be able to say that. I just think he looks nice, there's nothing wrong with that. Especially when he's asleep like this, his fingers tucked under his chin and soft sleeping noises leaving him ever so often. It's undeniably adorable. Anyone would think the same thing, wouldn’t they? How can a grown man curl up so small?

I hate that I’m what’s exhausted him like this. If he were awake he'd tell me it's not my fault and hug me tight, so much so that I’d believe him and probably not even feel bad about it.

But he's not, so I'm left alone with my wandering mind and I blame myself for everything he's been through. He can’t stop my thinking if he can’t hear it.

All of the buildings in this part of the city look the same. Original facade, shops on the lower levels and rented flats above. Tall windows stare out at me and reflect our car as we race by, early commuters and front steps blurring in my vision. Our flat doesn’t even have a garden, yet oddly enough I crave its quietness right now, the comfort and domesticity of a space that is just mine and Phil’s. We’d had almost nothing when we’d first moved there together, a nostalgic kind of melancholy settling into me as I look at this normal part of town and remember it.

“You know what’s ironic?” I mutter after a good amount of silence, drawing a hum of question from Jane.

“What’s that, hun?”

“Phil thought I was being abused too, at first.”

Her eyes stay fixed on the road, but I know she’s listening. She stays silent and it’s clear she’s not sure what to say, so I continue.

“Before we lived together and I was at uni, I told him about the nightmares. He didn't believe me, even when I showed him some of my scars.” I explain. “He told me he wanted to help me in any way he could, but he said I needed to tell him the truth and stop protecting whoever was hurting me.”

I tilt my hand in the weak light and settle it on Phil’s slack shoulder, gazing at the faint etched line in the skin just below my thumb where an injury hadn’t fully healed. I’m not even sure what dream that one even was anymore. Some scars fade and so do the memories, that one’s long gone by now. I remember the look on Phil’s face that had convinced me at the time that he’d soon be running for the hills just like everyone else. It had happened so many times before, the signs were all the same.

“I couldn't face him after that. I felt so embarrassed for thinking that he would even believe me to begin with. We were limited to skype back then, so avoiding him wasn’t nearly as difficult as it is now.”

I let out a wry chuckle, but it’s an empty one. Jane raises her eyebrows in question and I know she’s still listening.

“So what happened?”

I hesitate, sighing and tucking a stray strand of hair behind Phil’s ear.

“I was frustrated and hung up on him when he wouldn’t listen. I was convinced he was going to leave me then and I figured I was just saving him the trouble, you know. We didn't speak for weeks.”

“And he didn’t go after you?” She questions. “The way he reacted today, you’d think he wouldn’t just let you go off without a fight.”

I smile faintly. “He tried to contact me almost every day, but I ignored him. I still felt like I had a good chance of losing him at that point.”

It’s not a happy memory, but it calms me somehow, knowing that Phil cared enough even then to try, that he never stopped caring. I’d been so sure he was going to be done with me forever at that point. Ironic that I thought ignoring him would protect me from being hurt.

“That doesn’t sound healthy.” She comments. “It doesn’t really do you any good to shut him out if you’re afraid of losing him.”

“I know.” I groan. “A few weeks passed like that, just him worrying about me and getting more frantic while I sat there convinced that he hated me. Then I dropped out of uni. I think that was the worst time, I broke down because I felt like a failure and had no idea what to do next. I went home, and I texted him for the first time in ages to tell him what happened.”

It sounds so simple when I put it like that. The words summarratical and devoid of the gory details and horrible sick-stomach feelings, as if I wasn’t crying myself raw and avoiding my parents because I was terrified of their disappointed words and gazes. It was like being punished for breaking my leg by being made to walk on it, being aware that I had no path in life, that I’d failed myself and them. I’d texted Phil at the peak of my spiral, not prepared for him to say any miraculous thing that would heal me.

I don’t even remember what I’d said to him. It was about as bad as it gets, probably  _ hi just texting to let you know my life isn’t going fucking anywhere because I just threw my future away and can’t be assed to care. _

“He asked me to call him, so I did.”

Looking back on it, I wonder how he knew. If he did at all. I was preparing myself to blow off any written words he’d say, because no matter what positive reinforcement he threw at me I wouldn’t be able to believe it. Writing was nothing to me, mere pity laced in validation I didn’t want.

So he didn’t. Within minutes, I was barely breathing as the Skype window chirped cheerfully, the buffering face of the worried man I’d missed for weeks loading into view.

“I broke down in tears as soon as I saw him.”

And I did too, I’d been stony-faced up until he actually appeared, a soft smile on his face as soon as our eyes met that told me somehow, despite everything, he was happy to see me.

I had nothing to prepare for that. The emotions bubbled up all at once and before I knew it I was choking out some weak sound and the tears pushed through before I could stop them. I didn’t want him to see it, so to him it was probably more of a sound.

“After he was able to calm me down, he let me talk. I apologized for ignoring him and told him how useless I felt for not being able to take care of myself or live my own life.”

I’d thought the words were true at the time. As if my own body deciding to hurt itself every night was my fault and I was pathetic for letting it be such a huge part of my life. As if I had any control.

“He told me told me I was always welcome to come and live with him.”

Such a small set of words for how monumental it felt. It was like being handed the thing that had always seemed miles out of reach, something in the distance that couldn’t quite happen so far.

“I considered it for a few days. I knew he had said that because he genuinely believed someone was hurting me and he wanted to get me out of there, but I love my family. They're the only ones who knew before him, and I knew they wouldn't be happy if I ran off to live with some internet friend, but I also knew they wanted me to be happy, despite my disease. I knew I couldn't live at home forever, I was nineteen and I needed to start trying to live,  _ really  _ live, instead of feeling sorry for myself.”

I’d been on board right from the start. Even Phil must’ve known that, but living with Phil was one of things I had always just quietly wanted before. Spoken between us, it was always the future, hypothetical. My family had never understood me. They wouldn’t abandon me though either, so in retrospect it’s like I really had very little to lose.

“So I told them, and they did end up supporting my decision, reluctantly. My dad helped me move in and both him and mum met Phil there. They might have even give him the ‘he gets hurt and it's on you’ speech, but they knew I risked death every day anyway.”

Jane makes a small sound and I forget for a second that not everyone is used to my casualness around death. I’ve had so many brushes with the reality of it that it doesn’t even alarm me anymore. I want to apologize but she switches back or casual just as quickly. I only then think to wonder why I’m pouring out my entire life’s story to this nurse who had barely known me yesterday.

“I did my best to hide my dreams from him. It worked for months, until one night. It wasn't particularly bad, but it was enough.”

I remember this dream. I think about it every day. There’s been many dreams before and since, but it’s what happened after that made me remember it.

“I was running through this thick forest, it was so humid and I could barely breathe. I don't even remember what I was running from, but I just know I was scared shitless and I had to keep running.”

It had been dark too, even though there was no real indication that anything was wrong, I had felt like something was behind me.

“Eventually I fell, and I scratched my arms on some branches. I tried to get back up, but I was too weak. I was suddenly surrounded by some kind of mist and it pressed all around me, it was like I could feel it in my lungs. I didn’t want to breathe it and started to scream, and then I woke up.”

Woke up. I’d jolted to completely paralyzed, breathing hard because it felt like ice cold mist was still all around me.

“He was there.”

Phil. Blue eyes wide and frightened, pajamas rumpled and dark hair all askew. I wondered how long he’d been standing there, or how he thought to come in the first place.

“I didn't expect him to be, but there he was. Staring in shock as he ran his fingers across my arm. He had seen those scratches appear from out of nowhere.”

I look down at my own arm right now and see the new set of scratches there. The ones from that night have long since faded.

“He was gentle, as he always is. I tried to explain it again for the first time since that one Skype call, and I was scared, even though I knew in the back of my head there was absolutely no way he wouldn't believe me this time.”

I repeatedly stumbled over my words attempting to recall exactly what it felt like back then, to tell him for the first time. To see that realization in his eyes for the first time and beg him not to leave me. The memory still feels as fresh as the wound on my head.

“He got up and made us breakfast, then we went and sat out on the balcony in silence. It took him at least an hour before he could even say anything to me.”

I can hear Jane's quiet breaths and Phil's gentle breaths amongst the silence and the breaks in between my words. The energy has shifted in a matter of seconds, and the tension between us has softened drastically.

“He's been helping me ever since then.” I conclude, putting emphasis on that fact just in case there was still any doubt in her mind, just in case there was still a smidge of thought that Phil was any form of abuser. “He never doubts me anymore and I trust him. It goes both ways.”

Jane nods. She doesn't try to add anything or continue the conversation, she just stares ahead and thinks. She might not be able to wrap her head around all of it right now, but I’m certain that she really does believe me. Maybe now she’ll even stand up for me and Phil.

It’s our second origin story really, the first being the start of our friendship and the elusive  _ time before.  _ That separation shaped the life we have today, the foundation of necessity that brought us together. Recalling it now really brings it all into perspective. We’d always been close, but it was that morning that made me feel like for the first time in my life that someone knew me.

Phil hasn’t changed much really, neither have I. I’m just a disaster and he’s the put-together one who comes following after me when I fall down and create another crisis. I hold him back, he stays anyway. I still don’t get it, but here we are.

It’s all out there now, our entire story from beginning to present. All to a near stranger.

And there's nothing else that needs to be said.

-

A little while later, Phil groans and leans against my chest with a long exhale, letting me know that he’s woken up again. He blinks wearily, moving to sit up and before i can see him properly his head ends up on my shoulder. I smile despite myself.

“Morning, dumbass.”

I don't even think about it how I've taken his hand. Not at first.

He chuckles, then goes silent for a few minutes. I can tell he's noticed my hand after he squeezes back, but says nothing, and it's relaxing to know he really doesn't mind.

He looks comfortable, the bruises on his face beginning to fade just as the bad memories will.

We never talked about this. Not  _ really.  _ He told me it was nothing, but I couldn't get what they did to him out of my head. It was unwarranted, even if he was guilty, that's not supposed to happen. Not to him. I'm the one who's supposed to get hurt, not him, not my Phil.

“Hey, Phil?”

“Hmm..yeah?” He hums

“What was it like...in there?” I ask with hesitation. He knows exactly what I'm referring to. The station.

“Not as bad as you'd think.” He sighs. “It's not like I was mistreated or anything. I mean, besides that one angry guy, but I don't blame him. I was mostly just worried about you the whole time.”

“Worried about me?” I protest. “You were the one getting beaten up. No one in the hospital even laid a finger on me.”

He’s silent and I stare at him purposefully but his expression is blank, eyes pointedly looking away from me.

“Don’t pretend they didn’t.” I press. “You can’t act like it’s nothing. I’m fine, Phil. I was fine the whole time, I really missed you.”

“You think I knew that?” He snaps. “For all I knew you could have been strapped to some bed and brainwashed or something. You said it yourself, they sedated you.”

“But you-”

“I don't care what happened to me, Dan!” His voice raises enough to catch Jane’s attention. I see her eyes flicker up slightly in the mirror, indicating that she's now listening to our conversation

“You've been through hell and back, and I can't stand to see you hurting.” He snaps, on the verge of tears. “It's all I've seen for the past- I don't even know how long anymore. Ever since I saw you have a nightmare for the first time when we started living together it's just kept getting worse. I don't care what's happened to me because it's nothing compared to what you've been through.”

I sigh and squeeze his hand. “Haven't we already discussed this? I'm allowed to care about you, and I will.”

He frowns and looks like he’s going to say one thing, but quickly changes his mind.

“Can you at least talk to me about it?” He asks. “What it was like for you?”

I shrug. “It was just like any hospital, just with people who assumed you were insane, but I didn't really care."

“I had a few dreams while I was there, though.” I recall. “They weren't pleasant.”

He knows what that means.  _ Dream _ takes on a whole new meaning when I’m involved. Aren’t I just so lucky. His eyes are a clear kind of blue right now and I try not to give away the fact that I’m looking as they bore into my face.

“Tell me about them?”

“The first one I had, I hadn't even woken up yet. I was strapped to a bed, held down and shot with a needle, but I can't really remember it vividly. I think whatever drug they used may have affected me in real life.”

“Why?”

I hesitate. “The second one was much worse.”

Worse. Worse than restraint and a needle in the side. That word hits him so hard I can see it in his eyes. I’m silent for way too long, almost not wanting to spit it out now that I’m actually here. Suddenly I wish I hadn’t told him, but it doesn’t help that it feels like he already knows.

“...you were in it.”

His eyes are dark, worried. Suddenly he looks much more alert.

“In it… how?” He asks cautiously, eyeing the driver’s side out of habit.

I feel the chill of the imaginary room again, the damp stone and sounds of hands striking. It makes me flinch, but Phil is still.

“I was thrown against this stone by some- some invisible force. Y-you were...chained to a wall." I get out. “I remember…these guys in masks. They were…they were…"

I struggle to find a way to explain what happened, to find a word that isn't as blunt as the one burnt onto the tip of my tongue.

Phil takes my chin gently in his fingers, lifting my face to meet his curious gaze. “They were what, Dan? You can tell me."

The gentle, just faintly intimate grounds me and I bite my tongue, caught by the soft touch of his fingertips. There's no other way to put it, so I just spit it out. Plain and simple. 

“They were torturing you.”

He raises his eyebrows. I can feel the tension that rises between us, and Jane who's undoubtedly still listening. I’m staring dead at him now as I stubbornly dare him to react the way I’m terrified he will, while he simultaneously fights not to.

“I-It was just a dream.” He stutters. His tone gives him away. He’s disturbed by that. A lump forms in my throat, fearing clawing up a tense knot in my chest.

“I’m sorry.” The guilt is burning me, regret hot under my skin. “I shouldn't have told you. I-”

“No.” He takes both my hands in his and turns his body towards me, an awkward position while wearing a seatbelt.

“I- don't say that. I wanted you to tell me, and it's good that you did. It's good to talk.”

I shake my head, blinking harshly. There’s others involved, barely human and a force to be reckoned with in mine and Phil’s lives.

"They want something from me." I blurt out. "I know they do."

"What do they want?"

"I don't know." I admit. "But no one has ever spoken to me before, not up until recently."

"What were they telling you?"

"They were trying to make me feel guilty, convince me that I was hurting you."

"And did they?"

"Well yeah of course it worked after I was forced to watch them shove a knife into your arm." I retort. He can’t miss the sarcasm, but I speak it with a bite anyway. The statement makes Phil wince and I immediately regret it.

"They told me I couldn't fight them, every time I tried to remind myself that it wasn't real. And if what I've been told is true, then there's no need for anyone to say anything to me."

"So what are you saying?"

"I need to find  _ her _ again." I remind him. "I need to know what's going on."

-

We arrive at the hospital not too much later. It's just as simple and welcoming as the last one, only smaller and less chaotic. The walls are all painted a soft blue colour at the entrance and the place is clearly not new, but still well-kempt. The receptionist smiles at us and I manage to nod back, social anxiety in a strange place kicking in almost immediately.

Jane leads us through the building with the directions she was given. The place is well laid out, according to her this hospital was originally a pediatrician’s office until the building was sold and converted into a private healthcare practice.

The laminate floors are shiny, paintings of flowers and fields adorn the walls along with posters about brain health and disease awareness. It’s clinical and clean but definitely not as intense as St. Bartholomew’s. Everyone here seems patient and relaxed, working at their own pace. I don’t like hospitals and Phil likes them even less, but it’s easy to navigate if I focus on finding the door number we’ve been given.

Eventually, we find the man we're looking for.

Jane stops us at a door at the end of the west wing, the name plate reading “103A.” She knocks and I’m glad she has because my mouth is going dry trying to figure out what I’m even supposed to ask this man, never having been good at speaking in the spot.

Before I can even stop to really worry it creaks open.

My eyes dart up and lock immediately with a strangers’, one who’s dressed in medical scrubs and donning rubber gloves, a stethoscope clipped to his breast pocket.

He looks at me and I remember how to speak again, stumbling to gesture to me and Phil in the most confident voice my not-confident self can muster.

"Hello, we're-"

"I know who you are." The man, tall, sporting a pair of glasses, a bit of pepper stubble on his chin, and thick black hair they covers his ears entirely, turns face us with a big smile. "I was told I'd be expecting you. Dan and Phil, yeah?"

I nod, raises my hand to shake his.

"Doctor Wilson." I observe, reading from the tiny name tag pinned to his shirt.

"Please, call me Wilson." He smiles and gestures for us to walk with him, so we do.

“So how long have you been studying this disease?” Jane starts, catching Phil and I off guard as we hadn’t expected her to start asking questions right away.

“About a decade, I’d say.” He answers with a slight sigh. As he leads us down the corridor his expression is relaxed, yet focused. He seems to know what he’s doing, for someone who’s been working with victims of what should be a breach of modern day physics.

“It’s rare, but we’ve got several people who’ve been admitted here over the years.”

"How rare is it?" I decide to ask, my curiosity burning.

“I'd say it's definitely as rare as they come."

“But there are people here I can talk to?”

Wilson slows his stride, pausing to meet my gaze sympathetically.

“Not exactly."

I suck in a breath.

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone here is comatose. Most families just decide to let them pass, others allow them to stay here for research purposes.” He looks away, sadness in his eyes. “One thing’s for sure. Once they’re gone, they never wake up.”

I freeze, accidentally causing Phil to run into me as I stare down the hallway in shock. I stumble forward before anyone has the chance to try and give me assurance. I don’t want it.

It’s just confirmation for what I’ve already been told over and over again. Once I’m trapped in that world, there’s no going back.

"Now…” Wilson continues “I read some of the things my colleague told me about you, Daniel, and I must say your story is very interesting, as unbelievable as it is-"

"Just Dan, please." I cut in, sucking in a short breath and suddenly feeling slightly uncomfortable.

Wilson falters, then smiles. "Of course."

Phil raises his eyebrows and shoots me a look

"Unbelievable?" He pipes up, surely trying to break the awkwardness."What about all the other people?"

"Dan is the first case I've seen who's, well, conscious." He explains. "Everyone else who came here, they were brought to me after they fell into their comatose state."

_ Oh. _

"Why did they wait so long?"

I scratch my head and keep my gaze down.

"Well that's something else that's interesting." Wilson's tone indicates interest all right, but there's something off about it, and i can see it when I look him in the eye.

He doesn't think there's any hope for me.

I guess it's understandable considering, but it's still a letdown to see the frantic, apologetic stares he shoots me.

"They didn't  _ wait _ ." He clarifies. "When their symptoms first started showing they were either too scared to go anywhere, and by the time it got worse, it was too late."

"But I've been dealing with this my whole life." I pipe up.

"Yes, and that's what's interesting. Most people here, their loved ones, family and friends, all told me that they only experienced these symptoms for a few months before they fell into a coma.”

Phil suddenly grips my hand, shaking as he squeezed it. "So what you're saying is that…”

He glances at me fearfully as his voice cracks.

“...that it's unusual for Dan to have lasted this long?"

Wilson nods. "That's exactly what I'm saying." 

Jane speaks up, giving me a gentle pat on my shoulder. "He's a fighter, this one."

That doesn't rest well in my head, nor Phil's judging by the way he's holding my hand as if I could pass out at any second.

Then again, that's definitely a possibility here.

We finally come up on an open door that leads into a seemingly regular examination room, one you'd go to for an everyday checkup. The wallpaper is old and peeling the green and yellow stripe design faded. It looks like they didn’t bother changing much, because it still looks like a normal doctor’s office.

He gestures for Phil and Jane to take a seat in the chairs placed in the corner of the room, then directs me to the table.

"If you don't mind, I want to have a look at your wounds. Just to see what you've been dealing with here." He uses a softer voice to address me now.

I feel as if I could collapse at any moment. I’m suddenly scared. Scared of being doomed, scared of dying, of never seeing Phil again. That I could fall unconscious right here and now and that would be the end of everything.

I comply and remove my shirt, revealing the damage underneath.

Phil and Jane keep their eyes trained on Wilson at all times, that little bit of tension keeping them from leaning back in their seats and relaxing.

It's a good minute before I'm able to put my shirt back on. The room is dead silent, other than the sound of pencil lead dragging swiftly against paper as Wilson writes something down.

"Now I must tell you that for as long as I've been studying this disease, neither I nor my colleagues have any idea as to what causes it."

I scoff. "Well that's reassuring."

"I heard that you claim to obtain your injuries in dreams?"

"I do."

"This is quite useful, actually. Your perspective, as a fully conscious patient, may give us some much needed insight."

He’s desperately trying to give me hope, I can see that. As much as I don’t want it, I don’t bother responding.

"The brain creates scenarios based on random neuron firing that occurs during sleep, which is what many people believe causes dreams. Do you think this is the case for you?"

I waste no time answering that question.

"There's nothing random about my dreams."

"So everything you experience is entirely consistent and accurate with the injuries?"

I nod. "Yes."  

"Alrighty then." Wilson claps his hands together. "If you would follow me, I will take you to my first patient."

"I do have reason to believe proximity had some degree of influence on who obtained the disease at first. When the first few people came down with it, they were all European, mostly from here in the UK."

"After that, the disease only spread by familial bloodline. Which means, you are related in some way to one of the first people to ever catch it."

"I'm not sure I know them. I have a ton of extended family."

"I assumed as much, that's not the focus of your visit is it?"

Phil and I both shake our heads.

" _ She  _ is the focus. No worries, we're coming up on her room right…"

He drags on the word until he stops at a door with the number  _ 32  _ on it.

"...here."

He places his hand on the doorknob and pauses.

"Now I must warn you, she's been comatose for years now. The only reason we haven't given up on her yet is because of how peculiar this situation is, we want all the information we can get"

He opens the door.

She looks different, to say the least. Her features are softer than I remember, her face is relaxed and her hands are folded across her chest with her finger loosely linked. She has a mask and the machine next to her beeps ominously, her only bit of life, clinging on by a single piece of technology.

Her hair has a bit more of a natural blonde hue, as opposed to the blinding silver I remember from the dreams. It seems the dreamworld had drastically altered her appearance, but it's her alright. There's no denying that.

"That's her." I confirm. "She's the one I've been seeing in my dreams."

"What is it she told you again?"

"She told me that she could show me how to control it, that there was a way to stop the disease before it's too late."

"Like lucid dreaming?"

"I think so." I mumble. "She told me that the dreamworld is run by fear, and that the more aware I am of the fact that I'm dreaming then they're less likely to be dangerous."

"And has this worked?"

I think about the dreams I've had where I've even attempted such things. I can only think of one, one I've already had to bring up once today.

"I've only been able to try once, last night. I tried to dream on purpose for the first time."

Wilson quirks an eyebrow. "Why on purpose?" 

I lift my eyes to meet his directly.

"Because everyone thought I was insane and being abused by my best friend so there was only one way to prove them wrong." It comes out harsher than I intended.

"I was aware of the fact that I was in a dream, as I have been many times in the past."

"Can you remember everything that happened?" He pushes.

_ It's too much.  _ My mind screams. I try to shake the voices out of my head, but I can't.  _ I can't talk about it again. _

"These people, they were masked." I whisper, hoping that if I don't say it that loudly it won't hurt as much to say. It doesn't sound logical, but it's all I can think about. "They were trying to scare me but I knew none of it was real."

I can see the sympathy in Wilson's eyes, but it doesn't matter. Just because he studies the curse doesn't mean he  _ knows. _

"What were they doing?"

_ Ah shit, here we go again. _

I suck in a breath and turn to Phil, who nods in the doctor's direction. He squeezes my arm, letting my know that I can say anything as long as I'm comfortable.

"They were torturing Phil." I say simply.

He blinks, unsure of what to think. "Phil?"

"Well, a dream version of him." I correct myself quickly. "Not the real him. I knew this, but it was still awful."

"So your attempt to control your dreams didn't exactly go as planned then?" He derives.

"She told me Phil wasn't supposed to appear in my dreams anymore, he already has once. People aren't supposed to show up twice."

"I take it the dreams are a bit more complicated than that."

"I guess they are, I still need to talk to her though. I need to go back."

I cast my gaze back down to Eiraleene, watch as her chest moves steadily. She hardly looks as if she's in pain, someone who's trapped in another world. She looks content.

But the next question I hear from behind me set off so many alarms in my mind that I nearly forget to breathe myself.

"How often does Taylor approach you?"

I turn sharply, staring back at Wilson in shock in confusion.

"Taylor?" I snap. Wilson steps backwards, grabbing a clipboard from behind him and quickly reading from it.

"Taylor Ashbourne, born and raised in London. Twenty-two years old, went fully comatose at the age of seventeen and has been here ever since-"

"That's not what she told me her name was." I stop him, grabbing his attention.

"Well…" he falters. "Maybe she goes by something else? I never knew her personally, she was already in a coma when her mother brought her here."

"Doesn't matter." I huff, pushing past everyone and leaving the room.

I can hear footsteps racing behind me. One person.

"Dan!" Phil turns me around by my shoulder and stops me. "Remember what I told you when she first came to you in your dreams."

"Of course I remember." I roll my eyes. "You don't trust her."

"And I don't think you should either."

I sigh. "You're probably right, but I've got no other choice here. I have questions and she has answers."

"I know." Phil breathes, shuffling me over to the wall so that we can both lean again at it. "I don't like it though."

"Like I said." I place my hand over his and bring it up to his face, unsure of what prompted the motion. "It doesn't matter."

"It should though, shouldn't it?"

"I'm going to do whatever it takes to best this, you know that."

"And I'm going to do whatever it takes to help you."

"Then we'll just stay here until I'm able to contact her." I decide. "Then if she's being honest, we'll find out how to prevent my inevitable death just for a little bit longer."

Phil can't help but chuckle. I poke fun at death more often than I should, but we're both used to it by this point.

"And if she's being dishonest."

"Well then we go home and make the most out of whatever life I have left."

"Dan- you can't think like that."

"I have to. It may be reality."

"It doesn't have to be!" He protests, a single tear making its way down his cheek and onto my finger. I wipe it away and pull him into a hug.

"We'll find out, eventually."

-

"So I told them we didn't want to take up any more space than we had to, so we're sharing a room tonight."

It might almost be comical how quickly Phil stops in place, cheeks darkening as he stares between me and the room in front of us.

"Sharing? You mean like in the same bed?"

"That a problem?"

He takes a step away from me, shying away when I try and follow. His shoulders tense in a way that indicates he's suddenly uncomfortable.

"No," I assure him. "I just wasn't aware you would be okay with that."

There's something new between us, an awkwardness that's never been there before. I suddenly realize exactly what's probably going through Phil mind right now.

He sighs. "Dan...I know I literally just came out to you but would you please stop making this weird."

"I only meant that-"

He doesn't let me finish.

"-that I wouldn't want to share a bed with my best friend because now that he knows about my sexuality sharing a bed is apparently no longer a merely platonic act?"

He stares at me with wide eyes.

"...that we're both tall as hell and sharing a bed may not be the most comfortable situation." I correct him, sighing rolling my eyes. "We've literally slept together hundreds of times, dumbass."

I try to keep my voice light because I’m afraid he might implode if his face gets any redder. He addresses the floor, and I try not to laugh at him.

"So you don't mind then?"

"Phil, you could be attracted to lizards for all I care. You're still you and all I'm saying is that your gayness will not save you if I kick you in my sleep."

Phil chuckles weakly. I can tell he's embarrassed, so I pull him into a hug with a sudden tug of his sleeve, letting hum stumble as he crashes into my arms with a soft "oof".

"Stop being paranoid." I whisper.

“Gayness.” He whispers. At first I think he’s just stunned to say the word out loud, but then I realize he’s grinning slightly.

“What?” I exclaim, seeing him avert his eyes and shake his head silently. “What about it?”

“Gayness.” He repeats. “That’s funny. Sounds like it would rhyme with-“

It takes me a moment to consider what he’s saying in context, and then all it once it hits me.

“ _ No _ .” I gasp instantly and he finally cracks, giggling into my shoulder and nearly taking us both down as his gangly limbs fall forward. “Phil Lester!”

“English language is terrifying, you remove the ‘g’ and the world ends.”

“Is that something you learned for your English degree,  _ mister Lester?" _

“English language and linguistics.” He chirps. “Name me any other word that rhymes with ‘gayness.”

“Oh, fuck off.” I huff. I shove him away with one hand just to free my other one.

“Don’t call me  _ mister Lester _ ” he rebukes, sticking his tongue out at me.

I shift, reaching behind him to grab a pillow and smack him with it. He has no time to dodge, so the cushion hits him smack in the face and he shrieks dramatically, falling backwards as I shove him down and pin him in place.

What follows is a war of sorts, pillows being yanked out of their perfect hotel-like arrangements and blankets used as weapons. I forget about Eiraleene and I forget about dreams for a while, fighting to keep him pinned to the mattress and desperately trying not to smash any lamps or equipment. He’s losing valiantly and I’m laughing and sweating but I don’t care. I’m happy. He makes me so damn happy.

“Relent!” He screams eventually after several attempts to sit up, likely not aware of his own volume and probably freaking out whoever may be sleeping next door. My pillow hits his face and he lunges up suddenly, I have a split second to react before a body is collapsing on top of me, his chest hitting mine and knocking the wind out of me.

We both crash into the mattress, breathing like we’ve run marathons and sporting matching red faces that prove we’re even more horrendously out of shape than we’ve ever admitted. I go to push him off and he swats my arm away so I just let it drop, letting him breathe out a sigh and thunk his head onto my chest.

My heart is still beating quickly so I drop my free arm over my eyes, lying back and feeling each rise and fall of his chest, my head sinking into the duvet.

His cheek is settled comfortably over my heart, making me wonder if he’s listening to it or if he just fell there by occasion. His eyes are shut and I’m well aware that if he looked up right now he’d be seeing little more than a horrendous under-chin angle, so I lift my hand to wind my fingers into his hair, indulging in the feeling of soft strands between my fingers while I have the chance and assuring that his head stays down, a hush falling over the room.

He’s lying half on top of me and I half expect him to get up but he doesn’t, not even when his breaths even out and I’ve been playing with his hair longer than what is probably normal, let alone acceptable. He shifts a bit and then it’s even worse because now I’m  _ comfortable _ , so much so in fact that I’m dreading the moment- probably soon, when he’ll want to get up. We lay in silence for a while like that, the sound of cars passing on the street outside the only real sound.

I twist a strand of black hair around my pointer before lifting my eyes, wondering if he’s fallen asleep or something. The room is dark, the details smudged and shapeless, moonlight outside making light patterns on the wall.  I like what’s happening but my neck is aching for a pillow and there’s one just an inch or so away.

“You… you’re kinda crushing me there, mate.” I say softly, rubbing my hand over his shoulder blade which makes him hum contentedly. He doesn’t move, just drapes his arm more comfortably over my side.

“I can hear your heartbeat.” He says instead of replying.

I don’t know why that observation makes me feel a jolt of  _ something _ the way it does, but it feels like the aforementioned heart is about to burst right out at any second I panic, remembering he’ll hear it respond to his stupid and frankly adorable words, trying to redirect his thoughts by talking about something else.

“We’re in a fucking hospital.” I say back. He just shrugs, mumbling something incoherent.

"Doesn't really look like a hospital, does it?" He points out. I guess it doesn’t, more like a tiny, tidy room that’s had the colouration removed.

I don't answer, I just smile. “Are you gonna move?”

“No.”

I smile wider. I don’t even care, he can’t see it. I grin down at him triumphantly.

“Are you  _ tired _ ?”

“No.” He whines in a clear voice, like if he sounds awake it will make up for the fact that the rest of him is currently deflated. “I’m listening.”

“I didn’t ask if you were listening, idiot.”

“You suck at pillow fights.” He argues, as if there’s a connection. “See.”

His arm comes up with a pillow and without even lifting his head he presses it into my face, his arm dropping down on top of it seconds later. “I win.”

His head is inches from my chin and I have the oddest urge to lean down and press my lips to the soft tuft of quiff sitting splayed across his forehead right now, despite there being no plausible way for me to do that without it being extremely weird for him. For a second, I imagine doing it.

But I don’t. I can’t.

“Your heart just started beating faster.” He accuses sleepily. My cheeks warm. “What are you thinking about?”

My mind goes blank and for a second I panic, having absolutely no response. I scramble to think of something, anything, no matter how stupid it might be.

“I’m thinking,” I say slowly, “about how kicking you off the bed would return blood circulation to my legs.”

I poke him in the side and he yelps, squirming out of my reach before my arms circle his waist again, assuring him I don’t actually want him off.

Because I don’t want him to move. No, I really don’t. I nestle my chin into the dip of his shoulder just to be extra sure he doesn’t leave me, but he doesn’t seem inclined anyway.

We don’t discuss it. I don’t bother to consider whether or not it’s normal. All I can think about is how warm he is, how he fits in my arms so comfortably and how his hand over my heart is a comforting weight. I want him to stay, little as I can actually fucking ask for it.

“Noooo.” He whines sleepily, and I nearly lose it there.

“Is  _ no _ the only word you know tonight?” I tease. He just grumbles.

_ You have no idea how badly I want to kiss your stupid head _ , my brain groans uselessly. Why does this have to be so hard?

“Hello?” I laugh, answered by a soft snore. My face softens when this is followed by an even softer breath, Phil’s hands going limp and his chest rising and falling more evenly. His head nestled under my chin and I rest my cheek on his hair, caught in this moment of closeness and suddenly not so tired.

I lie awake for a while after that, just thinking of the past few days and tomorrow but mostly about my best friend. I try to hold on to this safety and warmth while I still can. It’s calming, comforting, different from most of my life where even sleep is too painful to endure.

For this moment at least, I can pretend that none of that exists.

-

I've woken up, again. I'm not used to sharing a bed with someone else.

My hand makes harsh contact with skin when I attempt to roll over, making my eyes open in confusion when I notice the grumpy mass in front of me.

"Ow." I hear.

"Shit." I mumble, moving to set my eyes in Phil as he covers his face with his hands. "I'm sorry."

He looks at me with a tiny smile. "Don't sweat it."

"Neither of us are gonna sleep, are we?"

"I guess maybe for you that's a good thing."

"Can we not talk about that right now?"

Phil’s eyes dart to a random location in the room with immediate regret. "Sorry."

"Don't be, I'm just exhausted. Ironically enough, considering I can't keep my eyes closed for more than two seconds.”

He chuckles, settling back down with a huff. "I can't either." I can tell something’s on his mind, but he’s speaking before I can ask.

"Hey this isn't so bad." He quips."Sharing a bed with your gay best friend." I can't help but laugh as he continues to joke.

But when the laughter dies down, I come to terms with the reality behind the jokes. Phil was nervous about telling me he was gay, and I made him tell me all the same. He came out when he wasn't ready. How could I forgive myself for that?

"Hey, um…" I start, trying not to ruin the mood too much. "I'm sorry, if I uh, if I forced you to come out when you weren't ready. I was just worried about you, and I wasn't thinking about-"

I don’t even finish before he’s smiling softly. It stops me short.

"Do me a favour and shut up." He chuckles. "You did nothing wrong. I'm surprised I never told you sooner. It's not like we don't already trust each other with our lives."

"Yeah,” I admit, gazing at  him and meeting his eyes through the darkness. “I still feel guilty though."

He shakes his head, going silent for a moment as a worried thought seems to pass through his mind. I can see it on his face.

"Does it bother you?" He asks quietly.

I raise my eyebrows, turning my head to stare at him.

"Hell no. Why would you think it did?"

"I don't know." He looks up at the ceiling, searching for something to stare at and clearly trying to avoid eye contact. "Sometimes... I'm just scared that it'll start to bother you."

"It couldn't. Phil, it's just a sexuality. Nothing more. You're still my best friend and you always will be."

I can see something change in his eyes. He looks a bit less fearful, despite his shoulders tensing up when I reach over and grab his hand.

I just want to be here for him, to let him know that he can talk to me and I will be right here with him no matter what.

"So how'd you know?" I let the question slip before I can stop it. He blinks a few times as he registers what it is I'm asking him.

"What?"

"Well if we aren't going to be sleeping anytime soon this is the perfect time for small talk." I justify.

"I…"

His eyes are glued open, wide.

"Oh come on, you don't have any juicy university stories to tell me?"

His face is flushed an i can feel his finger tighten in mine as they start shaking.

"I- no."

"Then what made you realize, if not an experience."

His features soften as his mouth parts slightly, stuck trying to find an answer for me. He suddenly stares directly at me, expression unreadable, but worrying. I realize this might not be something he’s ready to share with me.

"I… I've loved someone, who's a guy." He whispers, letting the sentence fall from his lips in a quiet voice laced with fear. I don’t understand. He knows I’d never judge him.

Loved. The word makes my stomach squirm and I’m not sure why it does.

"Really? Who?" I push, despite my mind screaming at me to drop it.

He snaps his head away. "You wouldn't know him."

I attempt to lighten the mood a bit, pushing against his shoulder gently and wiggling my eyebrows.

"Oooh tell me all about him. Was he cute?"

It doesn’t seem to help him relax. Nonetheless, he does let a giggle slip. He can’t help himself.

I rest my head against his arm and stare up at him with a sarcastic whine.

"I'm only joking."

He stays silent for a minute or so, but I know he’s not avoiding me. He’s thinking.

"No.” He eventually gets out. “He's gorgeous."

I tense. I didn’t expect him to say that. Staring at him, my blank expression makes him laugh weakly. He is. He  _ is _ .

_ Present tense _ .

"He beautiful inside and out, really. He doesn't even know. I wish he knew."

I’ve never heard Phil ramble about someone he genuinely loves before, it almost makes me feel a bit jealous. It’s always been the two of us, but now there’s an unnamed guy who has him scared and very much in love, from what I can tell.

"Present tense." I observe. "I take it you're still in love with this guy?"

He takes a deep breath, staring at me with watery eyes. Had I not noticed he was holding back tears?

"Yeah." He admits, obvious reluctance in his voice. "I am."

I raise my eyebrows, my urge to find the answer now too overwhelming to contain. "And I don't know who he is?"

Phil just shakes his head and looks away.

"You wouldn't want to know."

"Why not?" I snap.

I've raised more questions than answers at this point, and I'm starting to wonder if Phil's intentionally trying to be cryptic. He’s running out of patience.

"It's...complicated."

He sighs and I take his hand before I can stop myself.

"You know you can trust me, right? I-"

He cuts me off abruptly before I can finish.

"I shouldn't have said anything."

He doesn't let me argue, or ask him anything else. He rolls back over and faces away from me. It’s like a slap in the face. Conversation over.

"Phil-"

"G'night, Dan."

I decide to drop it, finally. I lay down next to him, keeping my gaze focused on the back of his head as I listen to his very clearly uneven breaths as he pretends to fall asleep. I watch his shoulders rise and fall. Gentle, even breaths.

I'm suddenly worried for him. There's something he intends to keep from me,  _ someone  _ he's trying to hide from me. Feelings he's been hoarding probably long before I even entertained the thought of him being anything other than straight.

_ Maybe I'm just a bad friend.  _ I think to myself, trying to drown the image of his teary eyes out of my memory.  _ Maybe he has a reason not to trust me.  _ I can’t think of what I could have done to make him not want to tell me.

It doesn't matter now, at least. We have other things to focus on.

So I give up. I let out an annoyed huff as I turn the other way and stare at the wall, my chest burning with guilt.

"...night."

-

The night drags on for a while, just like that. Phil continues to lie awake as he pretends to sleep, but his breaths still give him away. I don't even bother pretending, I can't even close my eyes.

I eventually decide it's best if I leave him be, so I slowly make my way off the bed, trying not to let the mattress creak too much, and head for the bathroom.

I grab a plastic cup and place it under the tap to fill it with water, that's when I catch sight of my reflection.

My eyes have the most prominent bags I've ever seen. My face is bruised and battered, as are my arms and legs, and pretty much my entire body. I look beyond rough. It looks like I’ve been drained of life.

I lift a finger to the back of my head to feel my wound. I scratch the area around it, letting the memories of the dream flood back into my head.

My sobs. Phil's cries. The echoed laughter.

I feel a cold sensation on my hand that snaps me out of my thoughts and directs my attention to the overflowing cup. I turn the handle back with a sigh.

I down the entire cup of water in one gulp, letting the coolness of the drink wash away the dryness in my mouth. I realize how dehydrated I had been.

_ I look disgusting.  _ I think, my reflection staring daggers back at me.  _ I feel disgusting. _

I think about the guilt like a stone in my chest right now and how Phil probably feels hurt and awfully uncomfortable, all because of me.  _ I am disgusting. _

It eats at me corrosively, the feeling. My mind is getting ahead of itself, wondering why he can’t trust me with the truth. I wonder if I’ve ruined everything. I’ve done that my whole life, it just feels worse somehow, realizing Phil might actually be so upset he could just… I don’t even know.

_ You’re getting ahead of yourself.  _ I think daggers at the gaunt reflection staring hollowly at me from the mirror. It doesn’t stop my heart from beating far too fast anyway.

I decide it's best if I have a shower, knowing that I would probably feel a bit better afterwards.

Since the bathroom is adjacent to our room, I briefly wonder if I should risk waking Phil up before I remember that he's not even sleeping. It doesn't matter.

I close the door and start the water, turning the knob all the way to its warmest setting and letting it pour over my hand for a few seconds before I pull the knob and switch the source to the shower head. I then waste no time stumbling out of my clothes and stepping under the water.

It's hot, too hot. Usually I'd ease myself into the temperature, but I don't have the patience for habituation. I step directly under the showerhead and let the steaming water strike my skin like hail, turning it red. It's a strange relief. It hurts but it’s grounding, I watch it with detached fascination.

I grab the tiny green shampoo bottle from the basket hanging from the wall, going to sniff it.

_Watermelon._ My brain observes absently. I let the thought slip away from my mind along with everything else as I squeeze a bit onto my hand, careful not to accidentally use too much.

I hum to myself as I lather my head until it's nothing but curly foam. I'm not even sure what song is stuck in my head at the moment, and quite frankly I don't care. It’s some nameless melody, I’m ignoring it for the most part. Most of my mind is Phil.

I tilt my head back and let the water wash it all away, breathing slowly. It's a meditation of sorts, imagining the foamy shampoo as all of my doubts and worries, watching as it all goes down the metal drain.

I can feel the exhaustion of the last several days catching up with me. My eyes are starting to flutter and there are periods where my vision goes dark and I nearly lose my balance.

_ I should really sleep.  _ I think wearily. That's when I feel it. My chest freezes up and my mind goes blank.

I lose my footing and slip. The last thing I remember is feeling pain on the side of my head, only listening to the sound of running water and tasting humid air on the back of my throat as I lose consciousness.

-

When I open my eyes, I immediately regret doing so. My head stars to each as I try and make out my surroundings through the darkness.

The hospital room. The bed.

Phil.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed, a hand in my hair and face full of relief as he notices I've woken up.

"Are you okay?" He whispers, a smile breaking his previously still features.

I smile back, getting out a heavy breath. "I'm okay."

"That was quite a fall." He breathes, bright eyes slightly dull from lost sleep. Again. I’d feel guilty, but I’m too dizzy.

"Yeah." I agree with a nod, trying to ignore my pounding headache. "It was."

He notices the way I flinch and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, soft fingers brushing my skin.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not really.” I say absently, hyper-focused on the gentle voice. “Not if I don't pay attention."

"Good."

His eyes are watery. I can't tell if he's crying, or just exhausted. Maybe both.

Before I can ask he leans down and presses his lips right above my ear, right where I hit my head.

“I was worried about you.” He whispers.

I can’t breathe. My skin goes hot where the touch was and I wait for him to blush or go awkward but he just stares at me softly, eyes full of so much care. I have to attempt it several times before my voice comes out.

"Wh-why did you do that?"

"It's something my mum used to do whenever I got hurt."

"Yeah?"

"I'm used to you getting hurt in your sleep, not in real life."

"I guess I'm just full of surprises," I huff, sitting up. "aren't I?"

"I guess you are."

His fingers graze my chin, sending shivers down my back and arms. He's smiling his signature Phil smile the way he always does, no imperfections, no faltering. He seems genuinely happy, but there's something else in his eyes, something different.

He's never looked at me this way before.

"Phil?" I breathe. "Are you okay?"

The look on his face tells me he's had some kind of revelation, the kind of realization that makes your head spin. I can see his nervousness in his features as he nods.

"I'm just glad  _ you're _ okay." He whispers. "You could have landed on your head the wrong way, it could have been so much worse-"

"But it wasn't." I remind him. "I'm alright. I promise."

His eyes close and he snakes an arm under my legs, dragging me closer to him until the distance is closed and I'm sitting in his lap. He then tangles his free hand in my hair, opening his eyes again and staring directly into mine.

“Dan...”

It’s quiet, inviting in a way that has me leaning towards him to return the trust and intimate feeling he’s conveying. There’s a voice in the back of my mind telling me that something is strange but it doesn’t really feel strange. I like being sat like this, I like being close to him.

I wind my hands behind his back and hug him closer to me while keeping my eyes on his, watching the reflection of the lamp we left on as it dances in his irises. I don't know what he's thinking but I'm more concerned with the newfound inexplicable feeling in my chest, in my hands, my knees, my head, everywhere really. What's happening to me? To us?

Why do I feel like I'm on fire? And more importantly, why is it one of the best feelings in the world?  

Phil slowly trails his fingers across the fabric of my sweatpants from where he'd held my legs, up my thigh and grazes his fingers down my the skin of my back. It's like he has me under some kind of trance, his eyes a spell he cast upon me. I can't move, I can barely breathe. All I can do is watch his eyes, daring and curious.

He then places his palm at the small of my back, rubbing intricate circles there before moving on, setting off a ripple of nerves as he goes. He keeps skimming my sides, up and up and up until his hand traces gently over my chest and comes to rest just under my collarbone, slowing the explorative motions.

When he firmly rests his hand on my shoulder, he stops moving entirely. It’s dead silent, only our breaths cutting the air which feels pressed close, tense and electric.

I lift my eyes to his, seeing the hooded look there and fighting to hold my gaze.

"I-“ I breathe, “are you? Phil-"

I don't know what to say. I just let my stutters fade into silence.

I can tell he's letting his confidence drive his actions, I'm not doing anything to stop him. I'm completely okay with this, and there seems to be no need for conversation when we’re pressed so close together. I'm confused, but I don't care. No matter how tense and unsure I am, I'm loving every second of this.  

"Funny." I chuckle. "How we can make a big deal about sharing a bed, when really we're just two big saps."

"Yeah." He doesn't even really seem to acknowledge the words that leave his mouth. His mind is somewhere else.

"But it's all just platonic…" My voice trails off as his hand grazes my spine and sends various shockwaves through my body. "...right?"

My blood is lava, each and every one of my nerves pulse against my flushed skin with every heartbeat. It's in my head, rushing in and clearing my thoughts so that I'm no longer thinking. I don't have to. My mind is blank and all I'm aware of is the warm breath brushing my lips and the buzzed tingle in my skin in the places I'm most sensitive.

My mind feels fuzzy but I let one of my own hands lift dazedly to cup his soft cheek. It’s warm and smooth, dusted with faint freckles and so pretty with the angle of his cheekbone. I can feel his expression shift when I let our foreheads rest together and draw him closer, shutting my eyes for a moment just to savour every aspect of this feeling. It feels almost natural to have him drawing me in, fingertips gentle as they dance along my skin.

"Do you want it to be? Honestly?"

All I can hear is our breathing. I can tell he's just as nervous as I am.

It must only be a split second, but it feels like hours. I think about it. I really, truly think about it. I don’t even feel my mouth move.

"No." I admit. I know what it me and, but I'm too far gone to give it any more thought.

I don't think anymore, I just let Phil make the first move. When I'm on a high like this, I can barely question the situation I'm in when my best friend leans in and presses his lips to mine.

Soft. That's the only word that registers for me. I can barely move when my limbs go slack and my lips go numb with every motion of the pair against them, exploring a feeling never shared between us before.

I don't have time to kiss back before he pulls away. Not even a second later, and I can barely remember what it felt like. I want his mouth on mine again, I'm craving the feeling. I'm desperate already, suffering from the withdrawal of those lips.

I could barely find it in me to wonder what I should or shouldn’t do before I let a whine leave my own lips, protesting the loss and running my fingers through his hair in the hopes of drawing him closer.

Not too long after I nod in a pleading manner, his lips are on me again, but not in the same place.

No, he attaches them to my neck, kissing shakily up and down and across my collar bone, adventurous and curious as he is.

It's as if a shockwave shoots through my body. I take his hand from my shoulder and squeeze it, sighing in astounding pleasure. He instantly dips his hand down further in the rear of my skull, pulling me in for better access.

“Fuck.” I whisper, breathes heavy, silent gasps. My hand sinks into his hair. My vision is going dark, but in the best way possible. All I can do is tilt my head back and clasp my hands against Phil's spine as he tugs at my skin lightly with his teeth, kissing and sucking until he leaves a mark there.

It's all happening so fast and my heart is racing. I want him to do it again. I’d beg him.

I close my eyes and exhale suddenly, air rushing out, swinging my legs around in a less numbing position so that I'm straddling Phil's where they're folded as he sits on his feet. I hold him down with my weight, pressing us closer, holding him to me securely even though he shows no intention of moving back. I take a moment to sigh in disbelief, unable to think clearly.

_ This is Phil.  _ My mind screams at me.  _ How is this happening right now? _

I’ve never considered wanting him in this way.  _ Never.  _ Maybe I’m insane or perhaps we’re both confused and frustrated, but Phil already has me at the point where there’s no going back. I’m a mess of staggered breaths as he pulls me closer. I let him.

And then he does something I would have never expected.

He  _ grins. _

He drags both of his hands under my shirt as soon as I'm situated, sweeping them across my skin as he trails kisses over my face, down my neck and collarbone, stopping at the collar of my shirt.

I have no warning before he grabs the hem and lifts the fabric over my head. I raise my arms willingly and wiggle out of the obstacle and as soon as it’s tossed away I feel so much more free, a rush of adrenaline shooting through me as I let my head fall back.

When it's been discarded Phil returns to kissing me, now sprinkling them over my chest and shoulders, then down my arms. I sense relief, now that we both realize where we are and what we're doing. Phil pauses for a second just to look at me in disbelief, our eyes meeting and huffs of breath escaping us. I can feel his breeze over my skin.

I can't help but feel the burn in my stomach when I reposition myself against him, dragging my hips over his as I do so. He feels it too.

I move around so that I'm behind him and wrap my legs around his waist. He's surprised now that I've actually started doing something. I don't exactly want this to go to a certain level without us having said anything at all, so I take control of the situation. With my arms and legs wrapped around him, I'm able to calm down and think again.

That doesn't stop me from pressing my lips to the side of his neck, however. I kiss from there, down his shoulder, because I  _ can.  _ I don't know why I can, but I can. I kiss over everything I can reach and it’s only when I sit up enough to see his face that my mouth finds his lips again, taking everything I’ve never had and giving everything I’ve always wanted.

Because I want this. I want him.

I’d never known this was something I wanted but now that I have it there’s nothing I want more. I’m feeling things I’ve never felt before and I don’t want this to end. I want this to keep going and going, to be like this with him forever.

It only now truly hits me that this is  _ Phil. _

This is all just, so bizarre.

There's no fear, no confusion or hesitation. I feel hands sliding up over my chest and I let my eyes fall shut, succumbing to the bliss of the moment.

The question has left my mind now, and all that’s left is our intertwined bodies as the air around us grows more and more heated. Closing my eyes, I give in and accept the feeling, the burning passion, and the truth I’ve been denying without even realizing. The fact that...I may be in love with my best friend.

It's a strange thing to come to terms with all the while he kisses me feverishly, but I don't care.  _ I don't care. _

A few moments pass like that before I manage to pull away and draw in a breath and open my eyes. I see Phil, just as he was before this all began. Tired, and relieved. I lie down and urge him to follow, letting him collapse over me as I gasp at the surreality of everything that just happened in a matter of minutes.

For some reason his body is cold, and even being buried under blankets, I feel like I've done something wrong, like he doesn't even really have these feelings for me.

And then, similar to the heads he I had before, there's a pain. An awful pain in my chest screaming that something's not right, something is definitely not right.

But it all felt so right before.

It’s not a physical pain. It’s something much, much worse.

Voices converge dissonantly in my head as they scream out and my thoughts start to spin. That's when I realize.

The cold. The ache. The devastatingly familiar feeling in my chest. It was all right there in front of me. I was just too caught up in the moment to connect the dots.

None of it was real.

It's a dream, a dream crueler than any I've had before. It gave me everything and now it's being ripped away, just like that. It'll all be gone and I'll have to live with the fact that I fell for my best friend in the dream world.

No scars will be left behind after this moment. No physical evidence is going to show on my skin. I’m not hurt in any way that will be visible and this isn’t traumatic in the sense that the wounds will haunt me. This is a dream unlike any I've ever had before. It was  _ good. _

I close my eyes with Phil lying against me, his chin on my shoulder and arms wrapped around me, secure. I feel an achingly familiar sensation, a feeling of waking up, and an ache in my chest where my heart beats slowly, slower and slower, ridden with guilt and regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi tumblr @lemonheadlester and @cozydnp


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